Dragon Age II: The Reunion
by smacks
Summary: In the backdrop of the Mage-Templar War and the Tear in the Veil, somebody compels the Champion and his former companions to return to Kirkwall. Newly posted: "Chapter 14: The Welcoming!" As a crime scene is investigated, Hawke and Merrill go to see Varric, only to stumble onto something utterly unexpected. Reviews Encouraged!
1. Prologue and Chapter 1: The Dwarf

**Prologue:**

"What in Andraste's name happened to her?"

"Did the Champion do it?"

"How? He's a Ferelden with a sword. He's good at killing, but he's no mage."

Templars continued to fill the Gallows. The sight of the petrified Knight-Commander was unavoidable. Knight-Captain Cullen had been clear that nobody was to pursue the Champion and his companions yet, not until the Circle was cleaned and the escaped blood mages had been tracked down.

"He keeps mages with him!" A templar piped up. "That little elf, the girl dressed like a Grey Warden. Had one of them do it!"

Cullen stared at the water outside the Gallows. When the battle was over, he'd simply allowed the Champion to leave. What could he do? Meredith had gone mad, her mind addled by lyrium, and was a danger to the entire city. Dangerous enough that Cullen himself had helped the Champion fight her. Garrett Hawke was not a criminal that day, simply a man trying to live up to his title. For what seemed like the fiftieth time, the man who some almost immediately began calling "Knight-Commander" turned to face his men, and order them back to their business. Kirkwall was safe from the madness of the blood mage Orsino, and the paranoid Meredith, but much more was coming. Deep down, Cullen believed it would soon envelope the entire world. But for that day, the sun was rising and there was much to be done.

**Chapter 1: The Dwarf**

"So, no shit, there I was down at the docks. We spent plenty of time there, don't get me wrong, but after the Qunari invasion, they built this statue."

"They have a lot of statues in Kirkwall," Vivienne said, finally lowering her cowl from her head."

"Yeah, but this one was special," said a notoriously talkative dwarf. He was resting against a boulder, holding a canteen in one hand, twirling a crossbow quarrel in the other. "This, well, for starters I fronted some of the coin for it-"

"Was it you?" Vivienne asked. She would not be surprised at all if it was.

"It was the Champion. I haven't told you about the statue before, really?" The dwarf leaned towards his mage companion. "Looking majestic, stomping the head of the Arishok, raising a sword of fire. So, subdued by his standards."

"Ah, the Champion. The Ferelden brigand who sparked a war and sent the Circles on a path to war.'

The dwarf groaned. Vivienne paused, realizing she had misspoken.

"The Circles consist of the mages, Bolty. The mages got exponentially more frustrated with the templars. What happened in Kirkwall was awful, but something was going to happen one way or another. And he cared not a bit for taking a side. He had a situation in front of him, he reacted in a way he thought was best. People were going to die either way. The mages and templars were going to fight either way. The way the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander carried on, the fighting was going to go on with or without Garrett Hawke, and it probably would have gotten a lot worse if he hadn't put down both instigators."

Vivienne nodded. As usual, she had a hard time reconciling her frustrations with the first-hand experiences her friend had with the man who, to most of Thedas, was the walking catalyst to the Mage-Templar War. A thought popped into her head.

"Varric," she asked, "why doesn't he fight now?"

"You're not the first person to ask," the dwarf said. He smiled, knowing how to spin this one easily. He'd been asked so many times before. "He'll pick up his sword again if it means protecting the people he cares about. A lot of people don't consider it, but it's the only thing that ever truly drove him to violence. Now, he was quite _good _at swording things-"

"Swording?"

"Don't worry about it. But look, he cut through darkspawn in the Deep Roads to make money for his family. He went after the Qunari to save a mischievous pirate he liked to get drunk with. When a certain idiotic blonde mage blew up the Chantry, he didn't really want to take sides. He was more reasonable than that, but his sister was a mage. A Grey Warden, it's true, but still a mage in a city where mages suddenly had giant targets on their backs. She could handle herself, but she was his baby sister, he always protected her. His father taught him to do that. Oh, and his father was a mage, too. The Champion may not have been connected to the Fade, but he was surrounded by loved ones who were."

"And there was the elf, of course. You've talked about her. "Daisy", right?"

"Daisy to me," Varric said. "Just to me, like I do. She was Dalish, never gave as much thought as she should to templars. But yeah, she'd still have been in danger, and he knew that. You should have seen the way they clung to each other the night we ran from the city. It's how I imagine the Seeker and the Inquisitor are going to look every night when they finally stop repressing themselves."

Vivienne laughed. Both glanced around, curious to see if either of their companions were actually nearby. Varric smirked when neither could be seen. He shrugged and smirked, then brought the canteen to his lips.

Varric did not sleep easily that night. He rarely did when he traveled like this. A small candle lit up his tent. Bianca, the crossbow he kept closer than most members of his family, rested next to his bedroll. On pleasant nights like this, most of the party preferred to sleep under the stars. Somebody would tell stories- stories not as interesting or finely crafted as his- the others would laugh and ask questions. Everyone would take the opportunity to take their minds off of the War. And the Tear. Tonight, Varric was thinking of names. Of a mad brother withering away in a cell. Of the old friends who he based most of his stories on. But mostly, the letter that triggered his brooding. A messenger at the Inquisitor's keep in Orlais had brought it to him as they were getting back to the road.

_V,_

_I've heard that you're helping investigate the Tear. I think I can stop it. I can save us all. You helped me once, now I want to help you. But I'll need HIM to make this work. Please, can you find him? If you do, return with him to Kirkwall, and send for me._

_All the best,_

_F_

Months ago, the Orlesian Seeker Cassandra had come to Varric for help understanding the Champion's actions, and to try and locate him. He had told her that he couldn't help her, but that had been a lie. He was good at lies and exaggerations, rarely thought twice about them. But with all he had seen since deciding to follow her out of Kirkwall, he decided it was time admit the truth. And he did it by grabbing his quill and a stack of vellums. They were spread out now, that much was true, but he could find most of them. Or somebody who could find them. And that night, he wrote. This company was effective. They were trained warriors, and had a strong leader. But he'd done the greatest things he'd ever done with another group, and he didn't want to meet up with the sender of the letter without them.


	2. Chapter 2: The Wardens

**Chapter 2: The Wardens**

The last Genlock stumbled over its own feet. Such clumsiness was not characteristic of a marauding Darkspawn, but there was a force dragging it backwards, and it had taken all of its strength to get this far away. Two ogres were on their way to destroy its assailant, but for that jaundiced, grunting beast, the end had arrived.

The telekinetic energy dragging the Genlock down dissipated, but before it could stand, it was hit by a ball of ice. That ice spread and enveloped it upon contact. It stood frozen, until a small but powerful arm crashed a mace upon its neck, shattering a good portion of its body.

The first ogre knocked over a tree and roared. A bolt of electricity struck it in the face, and as it reeled, two dwarves were upon it, hacking at its legs. One leg buckled, then the other.

"I call the head!" One of the dwarves shouted. As the dazed ogre tried to swing an arm, the dwarf spun around, swinging his broad axe in a wide arc, and cutting its throat open. He laughed, and finished the beast with an over handed strike, cracking into its forehead. "Hey Sigrun, you want the other one?"

"Sorry Oghren," the other dwarf replied, a twinge of disappointment in her voice, "she's freezing everything today."

Oghren rested his axe on the dead ogre's shoulder and observed the frozen form of the second ogre.

"By the stone's flop sweat, mage, savor a fight like that!" he laughed.

The mage slung her staff across her back and shrugged. Sigrun, the female dwarf, tapped the frozen ogre with one of her daggers, as if to make sure it wasn't about to wake up.

"I gotta ask, kid, why the rush?" Oghren picked up his axe led his fellows away from the woods. "Or better, when the hell did you get so good at making ice sculptures? I've busted up a million darkspawn in my time, and had a good share of mages slingin' nature at them. Some real powerful ones, too. But I never saw one could just freeze an ogre solid like you. And that ain't even your specialty, right?"

"I'm good at what I do," the mage said. "What else matters? I have magic, and I'm a Grey Warden. So, I use magic to do what Grey Wardens do."

"Humans," Oghren muttered. "Always gotta talk in circles. And steal all my fun!"

The three Wardens returned to Vigil's Keep the next morning. Masons, as was often the case, were patching up a damaged piece of the exterior wall of the great fortress of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. The darkspawn they hunted had been the last of a band that led the most recent raid. That a larger-than-normal compliment of ogres had been part of the attack led Warden leadership to believe that, a decade after the end of the Fifth Blight, the darkspawn hordes were finally getting desperate. The massive creatures were hard to control, and tended to kill almost as many of their allies as their enemies.

"Hawke!" someone called. A younger recruit with a satchel slung over his shoulder, approached the mage. "Hawke, you got some letters."

Bethany Hawke smiled a genuine smile for the first time in several days. For someone who had once been nicknamed "Sunshine", she felt fairly grim most of the time now. She had been "Sunshine" up until she had followed her brother into the Deep Roads and been exposed to the darkspawn taint. It was luck, and the presence of a former Grey Warden, that she'd been able to find Stroud, the high-ranking Orlesian Warden. He had put her through the Joining, saving her from the taint and putting her on a path to heroism. But once one had brushed death the way she had, and seen her old life entirely torn from her, not two years after having to leave the land she'd been born in, being "Sunshine" didn't come as naturally anymore.

But today, she had mail. It wasn't new, necessarily. Her uncle wrote to her every month once she settled in Amaranthine. But there was another letter that came less frequently, and always from a different place. It was the greatest reminder of her old life, and she felt rejuvenated after reading every new one. That there were two letters waiting probably meant it overlapped with Gamlen's latest tale of minor intrigue in Kirkwall, or of how lazy the workers in the Bone Pit were being.

"Hawke, there you are!" Sigrun held her horned helmet under her left arm. The dwarf had, as always, insisted upon waiting to be the last member of her company to reenter the main hall after a mission. "Oghren went ahead-"

"It's barely midday. Think he's reaching for ale or wine?" Bethany asked.

"One, then the other," Sigrun quipped. Bethany chuckled. The letters, even before she read them, had already brightened her mood. "Since he's deep in the tankard already, one of us needs to report back to Stroud. I know it won't take long, we hunted darkspawn, we- mostly you- killed darkspawn, but rules are rules. In the Legion we just found darkspawn and killed them. Similar here, but the reports!"

Bethany zoned out her talkative companion as she entered the main hall of Vigil's Keep.

"Sigrun, can you report to Stroud?" she asked. "I… I have something I'd like to see to."

"Oh, I see," Sigrun answered with a wink. "Get a little bruise while we were out? Got to pay a visit to the healer? I'll leave you to it."

The dwarf playfully punched Bethany in the arm and went off to find the commander. Brushing off the dig about the healer, Bethany slipped off to her room on the second floor. It was only a bit larger than the sparse cells the newer initiates had, but it was a symbol of her status as an accomplished Grey Warden. She'd never had a chance to collect her few personal affects from Kirkwall before having to undergo the Joining, and hadn't bothered to collect much in the way of material possessions since. Sentimentality, she'd decided, was not for her.

Deciding to save the best for last, she set the letter from "Lother Amell" on her nightstand. It was a shock to find that the other letter didn't have the Amell family crest, or the sloppy handwriting of her uncle. It was a name that she didn't often see on letters. And when she opened it, it was addressed in a distinctive way she didn't hear anymore.

_Sunshine,_

_Hope you're having fun in your fancy armor down in Ferelden. I don't know if you've heard, but the rest of the world's going to shit. You've got darkspawn running around the surface like headless chickens, which can't be fun, but go up north a bit, and, well, the easiest way to say it is the most direct: the Veil was ripped open. I mean, literally ripped open over Orlais. The templars and mages can't stop killing each other, just like any place that doesn't have that Alistair geek on the throne. But while they're doing that, monsters like you've never seen- and I know that's saying something- are pouring out and ruining everyone's day._

_But I digress. I've been running with a crew trying to restore order before all the nightmares spilling out from the tear. It keeps me busy, but it's worthwhile. So why am I writing you? Well, something's calling me back to Kirkwall, and it isn't anything fun. Somebody dangerous is coming back to our old stomping grounds, because he thinks he can… I don't rightly know. Maybe stop the craziness. Maybe make it worse. If it's the former, he'll need a lot of help, and a soft-spoken Grey Warden who can snap her fingers and summon maelstroms might be an asset. If there's an ulterior motive, same thing. The Wardens let you off for important business sometimes, think they can do it again? Write back to my old place. Hope to see you soon._

_-Varric_

A name from her past. One of the last to see her, fight alongside her and her brother before the taint, and before the Joining. She harbored no resentment towards him, but she didn't think the dwarf had ever considered that his expedition under the earth was one of the great flashpoints of her life. Still, he was a friend. She knew what his friendship meant to her brother all those years they had been separated. And really, some time away from Amaranthine and the darkspawn wouldn't hurt. She stretched, feeling the soreness in her arms and legs from the mission just concluded. The teasing she'd received from Sigrun notwithstanding, she probably would benefit from a trip to see the healer after a long rest. She looked at Varric's letter then, wondering if Stroud would be the only person who would need to be notified of the request. It would, she figured, be for the best that it be kept to her superior officer. But before that, she had earned a few hours rest in her own bed.


	3. Chapter 3: The Pirates

**Chapter 3: The Pirates**

"Hard to starboard!" the captain of the _Horizon's Challenge_ roared. "We've almost got the bastards!"

The ship tacked, and was upon its quarry. The captain grabbed a rope swinging from the top mast and swung across the short gap between the two ships, landing crouched, but on both of her feet. In moments the _Challenge_ was close enough for other members of her crew to leap aboard with a bit less of their captain's theatricality.

"You have two choices!" The captain bellowed to the crew of the freighter she had boarded. "You can give up quietly, and let us do what we've come to do, or you can resist. I'm perfectly fine with either, but it's only fair you know the score."

A guard from the freighter stepped forward to challenge the captain. She smiled, reaching for a dagger sheathed to her back. There were two there, but she only felt the need for one. The guard held maces in either hand, and was banging them together as he approached. The pirate captain tossed her dagger in the air, letting it spin several feet up, then caught the handle easily as it came down.

"I'm going to make you cry for your mother," she laughed, pointing the dagger at her challenger. The guard charged, raising both maces in the air. The captain crouched, and rolled out of the way as the guard brought the right-hand mace down. She laughed, and slashed at the guard's legs. He grunted and fell to his knees. The captain of the _Challenge_ kicked him in the back, and put a foot on his head as she turned to address the invaded crew again.

"That the best you got?" she asked. An arrow whizzed by her head. "Alright then. Men, get the bastards!" Isabela, the Rivaini Pirate Queen, smiled as her crew flooded the freighter's deck. She grabbed her other dagger and began looking for particularly tough guards to kill.

As Isabela's crew swept over the deck of the freighter, one sailor in particular seemed to have an easy time cutting through his enemies. Where his crewmates mostly fought with smaller blades or bows and arrows, he expertly swung a gleaming broadsword. For as lithe as he was, as most elves were, he had no trouble cleaving wide swathes with it, and clearly relished the opportunity to show his skill.

While the elf brought down members of the freighter's crew, Isabela hunted for a door, and anyone with a key. It was nothing new for her to loot the bodies of her fallen enemies, and there was a long list of those, but needing to find such a specific object, like a key, in the midst of a melee, proved difficult. She would frequently have to interrupt her search to avoid an arrow, or fight off an assailant.

"Oy, pirate!" A man shouted. Isabela groaned and reached for her daggers, ready to dispatch another challenger. "This is our ship, now get your cute arse off or I'm making you part of the cargo."

"Oh, dear me, I've been threatened," Isabela replied, twirling the dagger in her right hand. "Excuse me as I cower in feminine terror."

"Spare me, bitch!" The sailor, she realized, had picked up a cutlass from the ground, and was slowly advancing.

"And such language! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Kiss you with this mouth soon enough."

"You've got that sword… But you want to kiss me." Isabela started to move in, more strutting than anything. "Mixed messages. I couldn't imagine what your breath must smell like."

The sailor lunged. Isabela hopped back, and smacked him in the face with the flat end of her off-hand dagger. He got up and growled. A swing, resulted in Isabela ducking, and sweep-kicking his legs from under him. A jingling sound as he hit the floorboards betrayed to Isabela that he was wearing a key-ring on his belt.

"Come to mama," she said, reaching down and cutting the belt loop holding the ring. She rose up with it. The door she wanted had been easy to spot. She'd sat in the crow's nest of the _Horizon's Challenge_ herself when they found their quarry, just to have an easier time identifying it, so that she could make her way quickly. There was little resistance the few yards she had to walk, her crew having mostly overpowered the freighter's. She unlocked the hold, and swung one of its double doors open.

"You step in there, you ain't leaving, you nasty bitch!"

"You called me a name," Isabela sneered. "Can't have that. What ever are you going to do to me? I do hope it doesn't involve kissing me."

"Oh, I'm past that," the sailor growled. "I think I'll settle for gutting you, you nasty little lump of _hurrrrk…."_

"What was that last part?" Isabela asked, turning back to the door. The sailor got a brief glimpse of a hand protruding from his chest. It receded back, and a horrible tightness popped up in his chest.

"Enough of him," came the voice of a figure behind the sailor. His body slumped to the floor. The elf who had used a large sword to cut through members of the freighter's crew unclenched his fist. Light, silvery lines that had been glowing on his body began to darken to a watery blue.

"Hope I didn't interrupt your fun, sweety," Isabela laughed.

"As usual, you just found me a new kind of fun," said the elf. "Is this the hold?"

Isabela nodded, and entered. Fenris the elf followed. He had been an acquaintance, a brooding, dangerous one, for years. Much as she liked people in that role, he was so much more interesting once she accepted that the swordsman from Ferelden had a more serious interest in an elf of his own. And when it became necessary to spend less time in Kirkwall, the only city either of them had ever enjoyed calling home, she insisted that he join her on the ship her old friends had helped her acquire. And what a traveling companion the strong, brooding elf could be.

"We've found it. Back to the city?" Fenris asked. He seemed anxious to conclude their business.

"Absolutely."

The _Horizon's Challenge_ and its captured freighter docked in Kirkwall two days later. Isabela left the mooring of her ship to her crew, and went bounding down the ramp onto the dock. Some mate or another could handle business with the city guard. Fenris was visible, still leaning against the helm of the freighter they had captured together. He rarely steered a vessel himself, but in moments like that, she had to admit, he made a damn fine seaman. After chuckling to herself about the word "seaman", she headed up the ramp onto the freighter to drag him off somewhere… Only to see that there was a large man in the plate of the Kirkwall City Guard.

"Five minutes more, maybe ten if it's important, then he's all mine!" she called. Fenris turned and glared at her.

"I won't keep you much longer," the guard laughed. "But you need to sign off that you delivered the cargo."

"What will it take to get you stop calling them that?" Fenris groaned.

"Empathy. Terrible pirating," Donnic Hendyr, lieutenant of the City Guard, chuckled. He handed a clipboard to Isabela before she could drape herself over the elf. "Fill this out, get it back to the barracks tomorrow."

"Donnic?" Fenris called, somewhat meekly, as the guardsman walked to the hold. "What's going to happen to the… Cargo."

"Same as ever, Fenris," Donnic replied. "We need to process all of them. If we can find someone to bring them home, we will."

"But not back to the people who sold them? You're not going to-"

"Fenris, we've done this before," Isabela cut in. "His and Hers Battering Rams will take care of them. They always do. And if they have nowhere else to send them, well, we've seen people do well here. Didn't we?"

"We spend, at best, three days a month here anymore," Fenris said. He sighed as he spotted Donnic exiting the hold with the ship's cargo. "I… I need a drink. See you at the Hanged Man?"

"Shortly," Isabela leaned in, pulled herself up by Fenris' shoulders, and planted a kiss on him. Fenris gave her that confused look he always did when she showed him affection in public, without the assistance of alcohol, and quickly shuffled off.

"Come on everyone," a guardsman who had accompanied Donnic called, coming up from the old. Isabela watched the procession of "cargo" exiting. Six times now she and Fenris had accepted commissions to hunt these ships down before they could reach the Wounded Coast and bring them to the authorities. At one time, she would have scoffed at cooperating with the law, but times had changed. She hated to admit that people had affected her over the years, but this sort of thing never failed to get to her. She got out of the way for Donnic, his guardsmen, and the line of ragged people who had been snatched from villages around Antiva. Kirkwall wasn't, she admitted, the most glamorous place to be taken after a… kidnapping, but it beat the hell out of the long road to Tevinter.

* * *

Isabela and Fenris stumbled into the elf's mansion before twilight the next morning. The house would have seemed, to a stranger, to be in disrepair, though the truth was Fenris had, in the years since he had claimed it, never bothered with its upkeep.

The self-styled Pirate Queen moved without the strut she usually carried herself with when in Kirkwall, but that was a combination of exhaustion and drunkenness.

"Coming, Mr. Dour?" she asked. Fenris had propped himself against the door after shutting it.

"I got mail," he groaned. "I never get mail." He grabbed for it, but had it quickly snatched out of his hand."

"Look at this seal!" she shouted. Fenris winced at the volume, as Isabela wandered into the sitting room. "It's Varric's! He's still off with that stuffed shirt with the fantastic hat and he misses us."

Moments later, Fenris, fighting off sleep, was in his favorite stuffed armchair, with Isabela draped over his lap, opening the letter.

_Elf,_

_Stop me if Rivaini's already told you about this. _

"Stop him? In a letter?"

"Just go with it, Fenris."

_I'll be on my way back home soon, and if you get this before I'm back, I need you to stick around a little longer than usual. Remember how we used to wrapped up in Hawke's obsessive need to keep the entire city from total destruction? We may, and I stress MAY, need to do that again, very soon. Or the entire world will be saved and we'll get to take credit for helping, I don't know. But if you're up for getting the gang back together, and special for you, busting up a few blood mages, keep an eye out for me at the Hanged Man. Keep your sword sharp, if Rivaini isn't doing that for you._

_-Varric_


	4. Chapter 4: The Captain

**Chapter 4: The Captain**

"Three murders," she moaned, leaning her forehead into her palm. "Three, in Hightown, outside, in one night. Not fights, not connected incidents, but three separate acts of mortal violence in what is expected to be the safest part of the city in one night."

Six members of the Kirkwall City Guard stood in a line.

"I understand that the illness that hit the barracks recently has temporarily depleted our numbers," their leader said, finally looking up. She began to pace. "We are shorthanded, and that cannot be helped. But this was Hightown. I don't know if this was the fault of any of you, in me for arranging patrols poorly, or if the kinds of common thugs you'd find crawling around Lowtown at night are getting adventurous. But people are dying in places where they are not expected to die. We had worked so hard to reduce the violent crime rate down to nearly zero in Hightown, and it seems we are backsliding."

One of the guards glanced away.

"Remain at attention!" the captain snapped. "This is not necessarily a disciplinary speech, but do not forget for a second, you are the face of stability in Kirkwall. It's us, or the Templars, or utter anarchy. The latter two are not desirable, for any number of reasons, and you need to help us maintain our image. I will try my hardest to bolster your numbers in the nighttime Hightown patrol, but I cannot guarantee that it will happen immediately. In the meantime, it is up to you to step up your work. Be tougher with ruffians, follow every suspicion. I don't like paranoia any more than you, but we're left with few choices now. Now, you are dismissed. Get some rest."

The sextet of weary guards dispersed from Aveline Hendyr's office. She sat at her desk, and buried her face in both hands this time. A few moments and a few deep breaths later, she shuffled through the papers on her desk that she had deemed significant. The reports of each of the three murders in Hightown the previous night remained on the top. One was a rowdy dwarf who had been forcibly removed from the Blooming Rose, the usually peaceful brothel. He had reportedly been thrown out for slapping a serving girl, and ended up being pummeled to death in an alley where he had gone to throw up. Aveline suspected that a few other employees of the Rose had followed him out. The second was a merchant who had been sleeping in his stand in the market. Squatting was frowned on as it was, but she was more worried about who had found it necessary to stab him repeatedly. A would-be robber, likely. The last troubled her the most. An old woman had been found near the Viscount's Keep with her throat slit, and most of her blood drained away. Not just spilled, but drained away, stored somewhere. It felt ritualistic, reeked of blood magic. It was the last thing she needed.

Also in the pile were a few less troubling pieces of business. A thank-you note from a tinker in the Lowtown alienage for recovering his tools that had been stolen, which she kept on the desk in an attempt at lifting her spirits; an envelope with a lovely pair of purple earrings from Orlais which Isabela had sent to her upon returning to the city; another pathetic message from Sebastian Vael, appealing to her sense of duty to finally take over Kirkwall fully and help him protect the Free Marches from the Mage-Templar War; and a brief note from Varric Tethras letting her know he would be home soon, and both needed urgently to speak with her and give her and Donnic a celebratory bottle of brandy as penance for missing their anniversary celebration.

"Bad time?"

"Hm?" Aveline looked up. Donnic had returned to the barracks and slipped quietly into her office. "Sorry, dear. I was up early-"

"I realize that," the guardsman said with a warm smile. He wandered behind Aveline's desk and started rubbing her neck.

"Mmmm," Aveline allowed herself a smile of her own, the first she'd managed all day. "The city is going to fall apart. Again. I'm not sure if we can just find a ringleader and hit them until they fall down this time."

"Hush, darling," Donnic replied. "All you've described is chaos. You've lived through that plenty of times."

"You say that as if it should be comforting. Speaking of which, go a little higher, would you?"

Donnic brushed away some of his wife's red hair and started massaging the top of her neck, where it met her head. She slowly, blissfully slumped towards the desk, resting her head in her arms.

"If anyone walks in right now and sees this, you are authorized to kill them. Quickly," she muttered. "Did you meet with Isabela and Fenris? I got her present."

"I did," Donnic said. "Forty people they rescued. If you're lucky, you might catch the pair sometime between their celebratory return-to-Kirkwall bender and the beginning of their next expedition. They won't say, but I think this one is some run-of-the-mill pirating. Some shipment of silks or spices or what-have-you."

"And you aren't doing anything about it?"

"Darling, we guard Kirkwall. You are in charge of an order of warriors that protect this one rambunctious city-state. It isn't a navy. Whatever they do next can be Ferelden's problem."

Aveline raised an arm as if to interject, then thought better of it as Donnic started rubbing her scalp.

"Know what I'd really love?" she asked.

"An unruly thug to knock down with your shield?"

"Yes, that. Or if we can't find an unruly thug, not that that's ever a problem, maybe a pompous monarch from Starkhaven." Aveline reached for Sebastian's latest letter, and raised it in the air for Donnic to grab. "Read it. Hold with one hand, because if you stop doing this you're sleeping alone tonight."

Donnic poured it over and set it down.

"Does he think the Marchers aren't going to get involved sooner or later? The damn war has its roots here."

"Cullen won't let the Reds get a foothold in Kirkwall, so the Circles aren't bothering us now. I'd like to keep it that way. We start girding ourselves for spillover, it's going to give people ideas. Most likely the Reds, they've wanted to make a statement in the Marches since they broke off from the Chantry."

It was a conversation the Captain of the Guard and her husband had engaged in a hundred times, but they found themselves falling into it almost every day. The safety of Kirkwall tended to ride on Aveline's being mentally ready for the War to finally come home to the city that had given birth to it.

"The Captain isn't to be disturbed!" a guard in the foyer of the barracks could be heard shouting. Aveline groaned. Donnic moved out from behind the desk.

"Who's disturbing her?" came a familiar voice. "It's me, seeing me is a treat." The door swung open, and in walked Varric Tethras.

"The call to adventure finally get too loud for you?" Aveline asked, moving her neck around as she sat back up.

"Guard-Captain, I'm hurt," the dwarf smirked. "My life is a life of excitement, and we all know there's more excitement to be had back here in Kirkwall. Did you get my last letter?"

"Got it, read it, don't yet understand it," Aveline said, pulling it from the pile on her desk. "What's got you so worried? And who exactly did you invite to help deal with it?"

"You aren't going to like it," Varric said. "You know Elf and Rivaini are back from sailing the high seas, shaking their fists at the sunset or whatever it is they do, right?"

"I can handle Isabela," Aveline said. "Or has she decided to make another attempt at downing a bottle of red in every pub in the city again in one night again?"

"Well, maybe now that I'm back," Varric plopped himself down on the chair on the other side of the desk and kicked up his feet. "Things are crazy everywhere. You know that. I've lived it for a few months now. And it's going to come to a head real soon. Here."

"We jinxed ourselves," Donnic groaned. "Talked about it too damn much."

"What do you mean, Varric?"

"Some outside influence is on its way, from Tevinter," the dwarf said. "I don't have all the details, but I have enough. Shit's about to hit the fan, so I'm back to keep it from splattering too much. And hopefully, so will everyone else."

"When you say that…"

"The old band, give or take a vanished mage instigator and prude with a shiny set of armor."

"And that includes…"

Varric held up his hand, then nodded.

"You know where he is?"

"He's a little more relaxed in letting me know where he and Daisy are at. I don't know if he's coming back."

"I…" This time there wasn't an interruption. Aveline just didn't know how to phrase it. "It will be good to see them again. But if people find out, it's going to be trouble."

"Trouble's coming, Captain," Varric swung his feet back to the floor and popped up. "We just need to get ready for it. I'm going to go say "hi" to Elf and Rivaini, provided they aren't busy swashing each other's buckles. Both of you, meet me at the Hanged Man tonight, I could use a communal drunk-fest with some familiar faces. The Inquisitor could drink an ogre under the table and still scare the piss out of you. Not as fun."

Varric waved and exited. Aveline buried her face in her hands again.

"That didn't do a thing for my mood," she moaned.


	5. Chapter 5: The Champion

**Chapter 5: The Champion**

"… So he's just standing in the middle of the bath house with a dead nug slung over his shoulder…" The drunk man in the market droned on to nobody. A vendor selling herbs periodically shoved him away as he tried, possibly without knowing what he was doing, into her merchandise stand. The customer behind him was starting to look impatient.

"Are you making a purchase, mister?" she asked. The drunkard finally paused.

"I'm not at the punch line yet," he protested.

"Serah, I have customers," the vendor responded, feeling scared that the other people in line would get impatient and walk away.

"It's a funn-" the drunkard stopped and hiccupped. "You was going to laugh." He pointed emphatically to nobody in particular.

"Is there any reason you have to block the rest of us to ramble like this?" said the man next in line. He was an imposing figure, all muscle and coal-black hair, with a trace of stubble. The drunkard spun around and sized him up.

"I'm a paying customer, you know!"

The vendor shook her head immediately. The black-haired man rolled his eyes and shoved the drunkard out of the way.

"Sorry about him. Do you have any more vials of spindleweed-extract?" he asked.

"One more, serah. It also makes a lovely tea if you want a bag of crushed leaves."

Garrett Hawke paused to consider.

"Alright, one of each," he said, exchanging six silvers for them.

Amaranthine was quiet these days. Or that's what people were saying. The darkspawn had not stopped attacking this part of Ferelden, even after the Blight was put down. Even with the stronghold of the Grey Wardens only a few miles away, the raids were scaring people off. The city was far from dead, but the decline in population was, the locals had insisted, jarring. The market on the outer edge of the city was only busy at midday anymore, which was why Hawke had made a habit over the last week of coming later in the day. This was a good city to be left alone in, something Hawke and his wife had discussed on numerous occasions. This was the sort of place they liked, either a place where anonymity was not hard to maintain and people didn't pry, or someplace utterly remote. Eventually, they often insisted, they would settle on someplace, and their vagabond lifestyle would come to an end.

On his way back to the city's interior, Hawke stopped at a wood-carver's stall, a new statue catching his eye. Thirty silvers later and it was being placed in a box for him.

"Oy, tough guy!" The drunkard who had been nagging the herbalist approached, flanked by two larger men. They looked like younger, more imposing cousins. "Yeah, you! Still don't want to hear my story?" The two cousins moved past him and approached Hawke. One of them grunted and smacked the box out of Hawke's hands.

"Going to pay me back for that?" Hawke asked. "If it's broken, I'm going to be so cross with you."

Hawke grabbed the man's collar, pulled him in close, head butted him in the face, and shoved him into his cousin. The drunkard turned to run away, but stumbled and fell. Hawke grabbed him and tossed him on top of the two thugs he'd brought along.

"Dealt with worse," he muttered, retrieving the box and checking to be sure that his purchase was, thankfully, undamaged.

The inn he had spent the last few weeks in was dimly lit in the front. The proprietor said it deterred some less-desirable patrons who assumed it wasn't open. The tavern in the front was a step down from what he had been accustomed to in Kirkwall, if not in quality of products offered than at least in friendliness. It was, however, a good way to stay concealed. The room wasn't expensive, and few people asked questions when a man with a large sword bought a cheap room with a petite lady elf.

"Evenin', serah," a barkeep yawned. The few patrons around the tavern paid little mind to the man walking past them, to the rooms in the back, or any of his parcels.

Hawke shuffled quietly past them, to the room on the second level of the building. It was, at his request, the largest room available, which said little. There was room enough, and they wouldn't be staying much longer.

"I'm back," he said, slipping into his room. It actually consisted of two spaces, a sitting room with a small table and a chest, and sleeping area. They were separated by a small corridor which contained the only two doors inside the room: one for a closet, the other for a privy. "Have a surprise for y-"

Before Hawke could finish, his wife was upon him, leaping up to wrap her arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his lips.

"Greetings, ma vhenan," the elf whispered into his ear. Hawke placed his hands on her hips and carried her to one of the armchairs in the sitting room. The third tenant, a dark-brown Mabari hound, moved from a sunny spot he'd taken a liking to, having become used to this routine. After a few minutes of kissing and gazing at each other, Hawke spoke again.

"As I was saying," he said through a grin, "I got you a present."

"And who did you have to pummel for this one?" the elf asked. Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"I resent that," he said. "I do have money, you know. That said, only three, and I'd already paid for it."

"So they were just for fun?"

"One of them was trying to tell a bad story," Hawke said. "Capital offense. What would Varric have thought if I told him in my next letter that I just let that fool get away? Now, do you want to see it or not?"

Merrill climbed off from her husband's lap and let him retrieve the package.

"Oh, did you pick up the spindleweed extract?"

"What they had left." Hawke found the box and brought it to Merrill. She sat down and opened it. The look on her face as she lifted the gift out told Hawke it had been a good find.

"Ma vhenan, I love it!" Merrill squealed. She held a painted wooden figurine in the shape of a griffin. "I'm going to put it on the table by the bed. We can have Feathers watching us every night!"

"That…" Hawke thought better of commenting. Merrill looked at him, waiting to finish his thought. He was saved by a knock on the door.

"Mail for you, serah," a boy who worked for the inn said. Hawke took the letter, addressed to his preferred pseudonym of "Lother Amell". The boy didn't move from the doorway until being given a complimentary copper, which he happily scampered off with.

"What was it?" Merrill asked.

"Hold on, I haven't had a chance to open it," Hawke said. "It looks like it's from Varric."

Letters from the dwarf were at least somewhat expected. He was one of the few people to have some basic idea of where they were at most times, and that was the way Garrett and Merrill Hawke preferred it. The weeks following the confrontation with Knight-Commander Meredith in the Kirkwall Gallows had been tense. The whole group had wisely fled the city for a few days, hiding in the Bone Pit, a mine Hawke had a controlling interest in and maintained a good amount of his fortune with. It had also been home to quite a few dragons at one point, but they had correctly assumed that those were gone.

There they had resolved to return gradually to the city, starting with Aveline, who would report back when it seemed safe for the group at the middle of a fight which had claimed countless lives to return. All had, for a time, except for one. But it was for the best that Anders had fled outright. That he was even allowed to live… That was a difficult decision in itself.

"Is this tea?" Merrill asked, going through the parcels Hawke had carried in with him. He snapped out of his thoughts to nod. "Haven't brewed spindleweed since I left the clan. You know spindleweed grown in the Free Marches tastes different from the kind in Ferelden? More tangy. Good when you have a cold. Do you have a cold?"

"Not as far as I know," Hawke laughed. He never got bored of her tendency to babble. "Keep the dog out of the bags, will you?"

Lother glanced up, assuming a quick retreat would cover the fact that he'd been sniffing out a large block of cheese Hawke had picked up.

Merrill rifled through the food Hawke had purchased, then proceeded to place the wooden griffin she'd been given prominently in the middle of the circular table in the sitting room, followed by two tin plates with slices of cheese and squash. Hawke reached for one of the plates, and grabbed a bottle of wine Merrill had acquired the previous day.

"So, have you read it yet? What's Varric done now?" Merrill asked.

"I was waiting for you, ma vhenan," Hawke replied, beckoning her to return to his lap. She reclaimed her place, and Lother curled up next to his chair. Hawke broke the wax seal and opened up the letter.

_Dear Waffles and Daisy,_

_I hope this gets to you before you pack up again. I haven't gotten any souvenirs from the Korcari Wilds yet, so I'm guessing you're still in Amaranthine. Running around with the Seeker and her scary friend got a little tiring, so I'm back in Kirkwall to take a breather. I'm just taking a little "me" time, getting reacquainted with some of that distinctive ale at the Hanged Man, not to mention a few of the girls who serve it. And everyone who's been dying for a chance to kill me since I went on my trip. You know how it is._

_Look, I know you two have been doing alright roaming about the last couple of years, and I don't blame you. Kirkwall was never the nicest place in the world, and people still want to get their hands on you all the time. Hawke, half of this city wants to kiss your feet- and Maker knows where their mouths have been-, the other half wants to make an example out of you for every kind of transgression. _

_I don't know how much you really like to watch what's unfolded since the Gallows. The War has been nasty, the monsters that have been pouring out of the Tear have been pretty nasty too, if a little less sanctimonious. It's going to come to a head soon, and I'm writing you now because it's going to happen in Kirkwall. Aveline's kept the danger out through sheer force of will and a stare that could make a golem crap itself for long enough, but there's something coming that isn't exactly in her wheelhouse. Someone we knew way back when thinks he's got a trick up his sleeve that's going to stop everything. May be that he's right, with how strong he's gotten and with everything he has access to now, but may also be that he's going to make a whole lot of bad things a whole lot worse. I don't know, and I don't like not knowing things. One way or another, Kirkwall is about to see a lot of excitement, and whether you agree with me or not, it's going to need its Champion again. Monsters, templars, tax collectors, some unsavory type or another is coming. I know you still care. You've been gone a while, but it's you. And besides, if it got me to come back, you know it's worth a look._

_If you're coming, don't dawdle. Write me back as soon as you can, and catch the first ship home._

_Yours,_

_Varric_

Hawke turned Varric's plea over in his head.

"I think he just misses us," Merrill offered.

"We spent the better part of a decade in Kirkwall," Hawke said. "For however many people we helped, how much trouble did we cause?"

"Oh, but if we didn't cause trouble, what fun could we have had?"

"True…"

Lother perked up, and stuck his head on the armrest of Hawke's chair. The man who had been the Champion of Kirkwall scratched his dog's head.

"Wouldn't you like to see Varric again?" Merrill asked. "And Aveline and Donnic? And we have family there."

"Varric and Aveline ARE the family we have in Kirkwall," Hawke said. "At least, the family I actually miss. Uncle Gamlen may have softened a little bit over the years, but if he ever actually became pleasant, he wouldn't be Gamlen."

"Okay then, so let's see Varric and Aveline.'

"If we're going anywhere soon, I think I'd rather go someplace a little closer," Hawke said. Merrill understood immediately.

"I bet she'll agree with me," she said. "Maybe even say Varric's right and you should give Kirkwall their Champion back."

"I like just being _your _Champion," Hawke whispered into his wife's ear. She giggled.

"And you can slay my Arishok soon, ma vhenan," she whispered back. Hawke raised an eyebrow. "No? Sorry, I thought you'd like that."

Hawke laughed, and carried Merrill into the bedroom. They kept each other awake well into the night, as they often did. The next day was spent packing, and settling their tab with the inn, and the day after, the man, his elven wife, and an atypically friendly Mabari returned to the road, going southeast to Vigil's Keep.

* * *

**_I hope everyone's enjoying this story so far! It's been a while since I've done anything like this, so any feedback is appreciated. It may be about a week until I can finish and upload the next chapter, so check back then!_**


	6. Chapter 6: The Hanged Man

**Chapter 6: The Hanged Man**

"Still waiting!" Varric called. A serving girl hurriedly brought a tray to the dwarf's table. She set a bottle of wine, five mugs of ale, and a tray of bread on the table. The bread was uncharacteristically fresh and warm. The owner of the Hanged Man had been away for some time, and he wasn't going to have the establishment's usual stale crusts ruining his homecoming.

"You have a story to finish, Varric," Fenris said, grabbing the wine bottle. "You said you took a giant down, I want to know how."

"So impatient, Elf," Varric laughed. "You're going to enjoy this. It's me shooting arrows at its knees, just not doing shit to it but piss it off, the Inquisitor diving in and slashing its hands whenever it tries to swipe at me- side note, being bate for a pissed-off giant is not a preferred use of my time- and these two mages each standing twenty yards off blasting it with everything they've got."

"You measured how far they stood while a monster was chasing you?" Isabela asked, snatching the wine bottle from Fenris and taking a swig. "Ugh, what went into this wine?"

"Grapes, for a change," Varric answered, picking up a mug. "And it wasn't my idea. The Inquisitor is so particular about where people are positioned when they fight. You take an ordinary brawl and he tries to command you like an army. I miss Hawke's strategy of 'everyone hit one of the people trying to kill us.' But I digress, these two mages are blasting it, a stuffy Orlesian and the baldest elf you'll ever see, when the Inquisitor tells them to use that spell, you guys know the one, where they throw a ball of ice and it freezes the poor sap…"

"Winter's Grasp," Aveline said, toying with a piece of bread.

"That's the one!" Varric said, before taking a swig of ale. "Both at once, though. One ice ball from either side. And the ugly bastard is just stuck from the waist up, but its legs are still free, and it just starts running around like a chicken, tripping over everything. I swear, I actually think I saw the Inquisitor crack a smile there. But eventually, it starts running towards me, a direction I'd generally prefer it not go."

"So you killed it by running away after someone else actually tried to kill it?" Fenris asked.

"Elf, again, be patient." Varric took another swig. "It's running towards me, like I said, and I get an idea. I could run away like a coward, let the Inquisitor hack its knees off and claim all the glory, or I could aim Bianca straight up, run between it's legs, and shoot it square in the balls."

Fenris cringed, Isabela laughed, Aveline nodded approvingly.

"I did it," Varric said, leaning in. "Hit it square in the hurlocks. Its mouth was still covered in ice, but you could hear it screaming loud and clear. At that point it fell over, shattered all the ice, and just kind of lay there whining."

"I should say!" Isabela snickered. "So what, did it bash its own head in with a rock?"

"Nope, I put another bolt square between its eyes before the Inquisitor could lop its head off and take all the credit. He likes doing that, you know?"

"So did Hawke," Isabela said. "Remember the Varterral? That creepy thing in that cave in Sundermount? Everyone says he killed it."

"Varric wasn't there, remember?" Fenris said, slamming the now empty wine bottle on the table. Varric gestured to the bartender to pull out another. "Neither were you, as I recall."

"No, but you tell me such great stories, love," Isabela leaned on Fenris' shoulder and batted her eyelashes.

"I killed the damn thing," Fenris said to the other two. They both knew, but the wine was already starting to get into his head, and he felt it necessary to clarify. "Hawke was too busy patching up Merrill when it knocked her into a jagged rock, and Sebastian wouldn't get close to it. I climbed into the creature's back and jammed my sword into its spine. Went down with a very satisfying 'thud', as I recall."

In another part of the room, two patrons were getting into a fist fight.

"Couldn't have a night off from this, could I?" Aveline sighed, getting up to break them up.

"Wait, not yet!" Isabela pleaded. "Varric, thirty silvers on the one with the beard."

"You're on, Rivaini."

Aveline shook her head and forced her way through a crowd gathering around the two brawlers. A wiry man with a scruffy red beard was grabbing the collar of a stockier bald man and shaking him desperately. Aveline grabbed both and shoved them into their chairs.

"What's this about?" she snapped.

"'E said I was drunk!" the bald one answered. Aveline groaned. "I'm not drunk, I'm just… I got hit in my 'ead today and things are spinning a lot and-"

"You got a concussion, and your response was to come and drink?" Aveline asked.

"Follow my finger," Isabela said, appearing next to the Guard Captain. She placed her index finger in front of the man's eyes and moved it back and forth. She kept this up for a full minute, then slapped him on the cheek. "Not concussed, just drunk."

"Thass what I told him!" said the redhead, not ashamed of his own state. "Had a few too many and I know he can't miss work tomorrow so I say 'Go home, Mervin, your wife is going to blame me if you lose your job.' Mervin here's my brother-in-law, you see, and-"

Aveline raised her hand.

"Mervin, is it? Settle your tab and go home. You, in-law, next time help without punching." Aveline shoved the bald on to the bar. "And if he says he has a concussion, don't knock him on the head.'

"Fun as that always is," Isabela smirked. "Honestly, Aveline, I don't know why you have to spoil all the fun. And Varric, baldy's leaving first, I call that a win!"

"Don't pay her," Aveline groaned, sitting back down.

"Nonsense, fair is fair," Varric said, reaching for his coin purse.

"Varric, can I ask you something?" Fenris said while yanking Isabela backed into her seat. "You said you wrote everyone."

"Not everyone," Varric cut in. "No Anders, not that I could find him, and no Sebastian. We want to save the city, not give them more chances to tear it down."

The quartet drank and reminisced into the night. Aveline left first, needing to be on duty bright and early in the morning. Fenris nearly had to carry Isabela on his shoulder later. Varric had offered them a cozy spot in his suite, which they had turned down. That offer had, many times in the past, led to undergarments hidden in inconvenient places, or lewd things drawn on faces. Varric retired to his bedroom up the stairs after seeing them off and paying a tab that would mostly just come back to him. He had finally seized control of the tavern shortly after the confrontation in the Gallows, and made solid coin from it. He'd even resisted the chance to expand his already sizable room, and established a policy only to rent out the other few rooms on the second floor to travelers or, his personal favorites, prostitutes.

The suite was larger than one normally found in a standard tavern, even one as large as the Hanged Man. The main room was a fairly well-furnished dining room with a large fireplace. When the bar was especially crowded, Varric could retire here early with his friends for a quieter place to talk and play cards. He hadn't allowed many guests in here since returning from his sojourn with the Inquisitor. Three more letters had come from the one who simply signed their name "F". They were all about the same length, and the tone degraded with each letter. Varric didn't doubt his sincerity, but anything else he had trouble getting comfortable with, hence summoning his old company. Or, most of them. Two letters hadn't left the suite. They sat, folded up and weighed down under a book near his bed. Every night since he had returned he looked at them and contemplated.

"How bad would it have to get?" he muttered to himself once again, turning one of them over in his hands. He didn't have an answer to that, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of the letters. Not yet.


	7. Chapter 7: The Healer

**Chapter 7: The Healer**

A mother walked out of the clinic that morning with a toddler freshly recovered from a horrible fall. The healer did not look twice as they left. The mother, a young woman with black hair, couldn't pay the fee she had been told he charged, and tried to compensate another way, but he simply sent her off. No returned flirtation, no bill, just a little boy without the bruises and broken bones he had sustained the night before.

That afternoon, a farmer was brought in limping on the shoulder of one of his sons, a trap set out for wolves having instead caught him by surprise in the dark hours of the morning. The deep wounds in his leg were closed, and the farmer left shortly after with little but an unpleasant memory and a newfound resolve to sleep in a bit later. His payment was a basket of eggplants.

Shortly after that, an elf with a similar shade of dirty blonde hair visited his clinic, not needing medical assistance. She led him to the back room where he kept his cot, removed her silver and blue uniform marking her as a Grey Warden, and lay down. The healer took these dalliances as routine now, and both he and the elf only showed pleasure during the act itself.

Shortly after the elven Warden left, one last patient entered the clinic. A little girl with short black pigtails and a dirty brown smock wandered in quietly, looking grim and holding a wicker basket.

"Serah?" she said, barely a mutter. The healer nodded. "I know you're only supposed to be a doctor for humans, but can you please help?"

The child set the basket down, and opened it. The healer approached and examined its contents, a dirty, brown-furred field cat with a large gash in its side. There was enough dried blood caked onto the fur that it was clear the cat had sustained the wound at least two or three hours ago.

"He hunts rats near my house," the little girl said. "I think a dog bit him."

"Dogs are stupid, aren't they?" The healer said softly. The girl nodded. "Here, let's make your friend better, shall we?"

The little girl suddenly smiled, and for the first time that day, so did the healer. He lifted the basket onto an examining table, and with the utmost care reached in and retrieved the injured animal.

"This isn't a bite mark," he said. "So don't go kicking any neighbor dogs tonight, not for this at least. Was it hunting near any farming equipment? It looks like the poor thing just got caught on something sharp."

The healer concentrated on the injured cat, who was breathing slowly. He took a deep breath, and placed his hands over the animal. An aura of blue light emanated from his hands, and slowly enveloped the cat. The cat mewed weakly, and its wound slowly closed. Veins and muscle mended, then skin came back together. The cat shrieked, then started to purr calmly.

"Is he better?" the girl asked. The healer smiled and nodded.

"Give him a minute to rest," he said. "Then take him home just as gently as you brought him. He'll still be weak. Give him a bath and make sure nothing pointy is laying about where he likes to hunt."

"Thank you!" the girl shouted, rushing forward and hugging the healer. "I don't have any coins to pay you because mommy was still at the market when I left, but I brought a flower I found. Thank you for making King Meowthur better! That's his name that I gave him."

"King Meowthur?" The healer asked. "I like it. But you said your mother wasn't home? She just left you alone and doesn't know you're gone? She must be worried sick!"

"I know, but King Meowthur was going to die if I didn't get him help, and everyone says you keep people from dying and-"

"That's quite alright," the healer said. "But it's getting dark. Why don't I take you home?"

"Okay," the girl said, cradling the cat before returning him to the basket. "The road is scary anyway. I saw these two people walking on my way here, and they had the biggest dog I ever saw! I'm Jessica, by the way. What's your name?"

"Just…" the healer paused. "Call me Anders."

It wasn't, by the healer's estimation, a long walk. About half an hour from his clinic by the outer wall of Vigil's Keep. The child's mother was understandably furious that she had run off without telling anyone, and made no effort to hide her gratitude to the man who returned her. He had foregone the staff that let the world know he was a mage, but his dress, a silver and blue uniform of the Grey Wardens, was assurance enough to anyone on the road that he wasn't to be trifled with, and was also enough to convince the child's mother that he was honest. She hurriedly gave him a small bag of muffins as thanks and sent him on his way.

Anders had one of the muffins half eaten in his hand when he returned to Vigil's Keep. A Mabari warhound was chained to a post inside the wall. Anders gave it a quick glance, thinking something seemed familiar about the dog. It eyed him in return, then, as he walked past, started barking.

"No," Anders muttered, quickly glancing behind. "No way in hell. Just a big dog, and all big dogs are annoying."

The Mabari stopped barking as Anders walked on, and started to whimper. Anders hurried to the door of the main hall.

"Hush now, boy!" came a voice Anders hadn't heard in a few years. He didn't bother to look back and confirm that it was _him_. It didn't matter, he knew they weren't there for him. They shouldn't even know he was there.

He hurried through the hall, moving quickly and quietly, only stopping to pick up a tray of food to take back to the shack where he made his clinic. This was, like most of the events of his day, routine, and nobody paid him any mind. Even Velanna, the elf, fellow mage, and daily visitor, gave him little more than a curt nod of her head. He assumed most people knew of their affair, and wasn't nearly as concerned with the likely snickers as was she.

What awaited in the clinic was different. Anders sat down his dinner, and the bag of pastries he'd acquired, and was, as usual, going to light a candle and waste away the night writing memoirs nobody would read.

"I take it you saw them?"

Anders jumped. The voice wasn't unusual, but the Warden Commander never came down to see Anders in his clinic. Even when in need of healing after a mission, Stroud simply sent for the master of spirit-healing magic to come to his quarters.

"I don't know what you mean," he said, trying to regain his composure.

"You are a bad liar, Anders," the Orlesian Warden said. He was seated in a waiting chair usually reserved for the relatives of patients. "I have two Wardens, and that armorer, Wade, swear you saw the Mabari, and must have walked right by Bethany Hawke's brother."

"No," Anders said, the calm calming back to his voice. "I saw a dog. I see lots of dogs. I also saw a cat today. I liked that better."

"They came to see Bethany," Stroud said. "But haven't asked about you. As Bethany is not here at the moment, I would be concerned."

"Hawke was never one for subterfuge," Anders said. "He tried his hand at it, but trust me, he prefers to hit things than trick them. And with Merrill around…"

"So you are certain they don't know of your presence at Vigil's Keep?" Stroud asked.

"Positive. It took some time to convince Bethany not to inform them, but she understands as well as anyone-"

"Understand this, Anders," Stroud said, standing up. "You, in spite of your issues, will always have a home with the Grey Wardens. But you promised me upon your return that you would not bring back the conflict you instigated in Kirkwall."

"I did not instigate it!" Anders snapped. "I reacted, yes. But I fought against oppression! There are dangers out there as great as the darkspawn, you know."

Stroud groaned.

"When did Bethany leave?"

"Just two days ago," Stroud said. "She didn't tell you? She's going to Kirkwall. Says another of your old friends called her back. Apparently her brother wasn't aware of this. He was quite upset."

"Well, I wouldn't expect to see him stopping in here," Anders said. "I promised that the conflict in Kirkwall was behind me, and I haven't made any effort to bring it here. Garrett Hawke does not know I'm here, and I prefer it that way. Nobody outside of a five-mile radius of the Keep should ever know who I am."

Stroud left shortly after, and Anders could only stare at the blank piece of parchment he had been planning to write on. He ate his dinner and blew out his lights quickly. Even though he had narrowly avoided such a figure from his past, sleep was not going to come easy tonight.


	8. Chapter 8: The Docks

**Chapter 8: The Docks**

A light rain was nothing new in Kirkwall. A city on the edge of a sea could be accustomed to the water. As a plus, the hours after a good storm were, as residents joked, the only time the docks were anything close to clean. In one particular area, the rains were beating heavily on a large statue of a man pointing a sword into the air. The "blade" was partially glass, to give it a shimmering, "flaming" look during the day. Even on clear nights, torches lit to illuminate the open space the statue was built facing reflected off of the blade. It was a reminder to the citizens of somebody who had stood up to an invader and fought back. The "Champion of Kirkwall" would be romanticized by many from then on as a testament to the strength and independence of the citizens of the bustling city-state.

It was an irony Bethany Hawke could enjoy. Her brother spent less than a decade of his life in Kirkwall. It was a formative decade, to be sure. He had come into his own not only as a fighter but as a leader, and in her opinion, as a responsible man. He'd found a fortune, close friends, and the love of his life in Kirkwall, but she never felt like the Hawkes were ever more than displaced Fereldens. It did not, she supposed, help that life in Kirkwall had put her on the path to becoming a Grey Warden, which eventually brought her back to Ferelden. And Garrett Hawke preferred to call the road home now, a lifestyle she couldn't possibly see herself emulating.

But for all that, he still had that title, "Champion of Kirkwall", to go with a statue of his likeness. Bethany hadn't been there for the fight itself, but she had a hard time seeing her brother posing in such a way, his foot on the severed head of his enemy, his sword raised to the air. He could be a braggart, of course, but the Garrett she'd grown up with would likely punch anyone who peacocked like that in the face and spent the rest of the day laughing at him over a pint.'

The blade wasn't shimmering in this rain. She didn't mind getting wet. Hunting darkspawn in the swamps throughout Ferelden had made her more than used to being soaking wet in dark, dangerous places. Here, there were just thugs. Simple, violent people who weren't tainted by anything but greed or desperation. And tonight, there was an empty harbor. Varric asked for people to watch for the ship, which was expected to arrive at any time. How likely it was that it would arrive in the middle of the night, waving an unpopular flag, Bethany didn't know, and in truth, Varric hadn't even meant for them to take single patrols like this. He had people he could pay to keep a look-out, and Aveline had begun asking her guardsmen to report immediately if a Tevinter boat appeared.

But Bethany enjoyed the chance to wander around this city again. Late-night patrols were peaceful in Vigil's Keep, and she supposed they wouldn't be too much worse in Kirkwall. The only person she'd seen in the last few minutes was a guard walking by.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Bethany flinched. She knew the voice, but sometimes she felt like people took for granted that she hadn't spent as much time with this circle of misfits as her brother had.

"Scared you?" Isabela laughed. "Do I sound like a darkspawn? Ugh, I hope not. Here I thought I was aging gracefully."

"You're fine," Bethany said. She pulled her staff from the strap across her back, and leaned against it. "It's just quiet out here."

"Quiet? On these docks?" Isabela pulled a handkerchief from her sash. Bethany noticed that the pirate was holding one of her daggers, and there was blood across the blade. "Sweetie, trouble just steers clear of this spot. A Grey Warden in Kirkwall, loitering near the statue of its Champion. They may not know you're his sister, but you look nice and scary."

"And you?"

"I don't like looking scary," Isabela said, wiping off her blade. "And it's been weeks since a drunk idiot tried to jump me. You know I didn't even kill him? He'll have a hard time sitting down for a while, though."

"I don't want to know what you mean, do I?" Bethany asked. She found her gaze going back to the statue.

"Think he'll come?" Isabela asked. "Varric said he knew how to find him."

"Yes, Varric is the only one he ever informs when he moves someplace new," Bethany said. It was hard for Isabela to ignore the sadness in her voice.

"Does he not write you, or visit you in your big scary Grey Warden fortress?"

"I get the occasional letter," Bethany replied. "He tells me after the fact that he's done, where he and Merrill and the dog have gone to. I know he was wandering somewhere in Ferelden when I left Amaranthine. Didn't say a word about coming to see me. I suppose that's probably for the best."

"For the best?" Isabela was surprised. "You didn't want your own brother to visit you? Don't you at least miss the dog?"

"Lother? Oh, of course," Bethany laughed. "A big happy furball that could give you a wet kiss right after ripping somebody's hand off."

"Now that is a fun trick," Isabela said under her breath. She'd have to run it by Fenris sometime.

There were no boats approaching through the Twins that night. The giant statues that marked the approach to Kirkwall had been outfitted with torches to help travelers in the event they tried to enter the harbor on stormy nights like this, but nobody was taking advantage of this. As the winds began to whip harder, Isabela tugged at Bethany's arm, trying to motion her away. The Warden took one last glance at the statue of her brother, and followed.

As the pirate and the Warden left, so to did a woman peering from a window. In the wind and rain, neither had seen the slightly open curtain, three stories over their heads, in one of many rundown tenements. The watcher hurried away, down several sets of stairs, and under the ground itself. Deep down, in one of the few subterranean chambers not connected to Darktown, a group of people waited.

"Could you hear anything?" A young man in a glittering silver robe asked.

"A bit, my love," said the woman who had been watching. "It's the Sister. She is here, and so is the pirate."

"What about the Champion?" The robed man grew excited at the possibility.

"They were talking about him," said the woman. "He isn't here. I don't know if they know where he is, or if he'll even come. My love, could you not find him yourself?"

"Not in the waking world. And I know he won't answer my call in the Fade. But don't worry. I know Garrett Hawke. He is a good man, and he cares about these people. He'll be here. And he will help us change the world."


	9. Chapter 9: The Pariah

**Chapter 9: The Pariah**

Merrill had no issue going out alone, even in new places. She grew up a nomad, and even in a sprawling, dangerous city like Kirkwall, she was not nearly as anxious about wandering around by herself as others. Varric had always insisted that she was safe because he paid people not to harm her, but that seemed unnecessary. Most people were friendly enough during the daytime, always calling to her and teaching her strange new curse words. Hawke still seemed anxious when she went off to explore a new forest or ruin without him, though sometimes she assumed he was just jealous that she was seeing the world while he was off among other humans.

There had been stories of darkspawn infesting the lands near Vigil's Keep, so when she went exploring without him, Hawke insisted that she take the dog with her. Lother was good enough company. He certainly seemed to enjoy running around the forest as much as she did. He wasn't much good at sniffing out patches of Elfroot, but she forgave him that.

"You don't really care much for collecting herbs, do you?" she asked the Mabari, who was busy sniffing out a rabbit hole. "Maybe if I mixed some in with a stew, I bet you'd like that!"

Lother briefly paused to turn to her and bark, then went back to hunting a rabbit. He was trying to dig, but the ground was a mess of roots.

"Hawke's better conversation," she said, reaching down to grab a plant by its root and place it in her satchel. Her husband was more fun to talk to, speaking a common language and all, and was certainly more fun to look at, but the dog clearly appreciated these sojourns more. The people who lived around Vigil's Keep seemed so confused by a Mabari just wandering around with his people, like somebody's lapdog. Humans in Ferelden always seemed to love dogs, but they insisted on using the smartest breed they had for fighting. Lother could fight, of course, but he was just as likely to fetch a stick as bite somebody's hand off, both of which Merrill had seen him do.

"Lother, you didn't get to go into the large building all the Grey Wardens live in," she said, her mind suddenly bouncing to something unrelated to gathering Elfroot. "They had statues and paintings of griffons everywhere! Hawke says they used to ride on griffons, before they all died. Such a shame, that. Such cute-looking animals going extinct."

The Mabari came bounding back with a particularly large rabbit in his mouth. He laid it at Merrill's feet and barked.

"Oh, thank you!" she squealed, wrapping the rabbit up in a swath of leather. "Know what? I think I really will make a stew out of some of these. Hawke's going to share it with you, anyway."

Something cracked not far from them. Lother immediately ran off to investigate. Merrill followed, slowly. She had seen enough frightening things in forests to not be too worried about whatever this was, but at the same time, enough people had talked of darkspawn, and she knew how cross Hawke would be if she got caught by any. Lother was out of her sight by now, but she heard him barking.

"What did you find, boy?" she called. "Try not to hurt it too-"

A genlock came crashing from the woods, with the Mabari chasing. Merrill quickly hopped out of the way as the dog brought the darkspawn down. It wore a chest plate and leather pants, but the head and neck were unarmored, and it didn't have a weapon. The genlock suddenly turned and growled. Lother returned a growl and lunged, only to have the genlock grab it by the neck and open its mouth.

"Oh, that's not wise," Merrill called. She set her satchel of plants down, and picked up a wooden staff. It was polished most of the way down, with runes etched in a few spots, and a blade at one end. The other branched into multiple points. It hadn't always been hers, but she cared for it like it had been with her since childhood. The genlock didn't seem to heed her warning, and looked intent on choking Lother, who yelped as he struggled to get free. Merrill sighed, clutched the staff with both hands, and narrowed her eyes. A bolt of purple energy shot forth and struck the darkspawn, who snarled and let go of the Mabari. Lother twisted back onto his feet and bared his jaws.

"You aren't taking him," Merrill said, calmly. "Your kind has hurt enough."

The genlock snarled again. Lother tried to lunge again, only for the genlock to leap out of its way and at Merrill. She responded by whipping her staff around and letting the darkspawn impale itself through the neck on the bladed end. With a tug, she freed her weapon of the dead beast, picked up her satchel, and gestured for Lother to follow her.

"That was exciting," she said as the dog walked by her side. She scratched him on the neck, wondering why he felt the need to get into so much trouble. A consequence of knowing Hawke so long, she assumed. She certainly hadn't gotten into so many fights before meeting him.

An hour later, she returned to the inn outside of Vigil's Keep where she and Hawke were staying. Hawke was sitting by the window of their room, reading.

"I'm back, ma vhenan!" she chirped, setting down the bag of herbs she'd gathered, and the rabbit Lother had killed on the room's single table. It was much smaller than the one in Amaranthine, but she liked the view so much better. The city was so dreary and slow. There were more trees here, and more birds.

"Find what you needed?" Hawke asked, setting his book on the floor.

"Oh yes," Merrill responded, leaping into his lap. Hawke wrapped his arms around her and she pressed into his chest. "It's like nobody goes into those woods at all. Nothing's picked over."

"That's because, as I tried to tell you, the woods are dangerous," Hawke sighed. "Darkspawn, remember? Those things that scared both of us out of this country in the first place?"

"Oh, I know," Merrill laughed. "One came at us before we left. I think Lother scared it. It's dead now."

"I-" Hawke pressed his palm to his forehead. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"I'm fine. It tried to hurt Lother, but he's fine too. I think he may have peed on it when it was dead."

The night was calm, and Merrill insisted on leaving their window open until they went to sleep. She dressed the rabbit Lother had killed herself, and prepared dinner, like usual. For a couple that moved around so much, they had some remarkable routines. Hawke had spent his day asking around the Keep, trying to find out where his sister was. Bethany didn't write to them often, not a surprise since it was hard to keep track of them, so if she'd gone off on a mission, they didn't know coming to the Ferelden base for the Grey Wardens that she wouldn't be around.

"Bethany's off on some mission nobody can tell me about," Hawke told her. "She's not fighting darkspawn, and nobody went with her. I feel like they didn't even want me around here, to tell you the truth."

"I wonder why?" Merrill asked. "You're so good at killing darkspawn, you'd think they'd love you. I always thought Stroud liked you, anyway. I wonder if they don't like Bethany? Creator, what if they sent her away somewhere as a prank?!"

"Merrill…"

When they blew their candles out and prepared for bed, Merrill went to finally shut the window and draw the ragged curtains. She paused before doing that, seeing a silhouette standing near the wall to the Keep. When the watcher realized they had been caught, they ducked away. Merrill shrugged and closed the curtain. There was always somebody trying to threaten them. If somebody really was spying, Hawke would deal with them. He always did.


	10. Chapter 10: The Prince

**Chapter 10: The Prince**

"In combat, your average moving target is going to be at least partially armored," said a man whose own armor was hard to miss. It was white in most parts, glimmering in the sun, as if daring enemies to key in on him from a distance. He walked up and down a line of archers with longbows. "That armor may also slow them down quite a bit. If you want to take them down before they can get to you or one of your comrades, you need to find the weaknesses in that armor. Now, can anyone tell me what the weakness in MY armor is?"

One recruit raised his hand.

"Your sides are mostly mail," he said. "A sharp arrow from a decent bow could still kill you."

"A sharp arrow from a decent bow can work wonders in the right hands," the instructor replied. "And like any shot, that requires the right angle. That's a given. Anyone else?"

"It's not heavy enough," another recruit guessed. "Someone with a blade gets close enough, you're dead."

"No good archer should let a swordsman get that close," said the instructor. "That defeats the purpose of using a long-range weapon. And even if they do, you don't just stand still, you move, you fight. You can strike with your bow, you can dodge, gain distance and shoot again. One more try. Anyone?"

"Serah?" One last recruit sheepishly asked. "You aren't wearing a helmet. Another archer could put an arrow through your head, easily."

The instructor stopped pacing, then stood facing the line of recruits, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked at the recruit who had made the last guess, and nodded.

"Very good," he said. "An archer, like any warrior, cannot over-think! My head is exposed, and that should be a weakness. The most important target on any enemy, and the rest of you did not mention it at all! That is how you lose a fight. I don't wear armor this gaudy just for show. I do it to maintain an enemies attention at my chest or arms, which can take the blow. This way my line of vision, and my equilibrium are unaffected by a bulky helmet or hood, but my head is still relatively safe. Many people over-think this just the way many of you did. As archers in the service of the army of Starkhaven, you will not make this sort of mistake. Am I understood?"

The recruits raised their bows and shouted "Yes, Your Highness" in unison. Their instructor, and their ruler, Prince Sebastian Vael, nodded, gestured for them to stand back at attention and called for another instructor to continue their training.

Days like this brought a measure of satisfaction to the man who refused, in spite of his right, to be called King. It had only been a few years ago that he had returned, in anger, to the city of his birth. It had been abrupt, so abrupt that the stewards who managed it for him had no actual advanced knowledge of his homecoming, but Sebastian's mark was made quickly. A city-state wracked with turmoil after the assassination of its royal family seemed in awe of the survivor, the prodigal son with sharp arrows, a decent bow, and little patience.

Every evening, when he returned to the palace, he checked for messages. Somebody could bring them to him later, but he was impatient. Conflicts were raging all around Thedas, allies were distracted by their own defensive needs, and he still had a few spies out, searching for that one, elusive mage. Three had already returned from Ferelden, and another who had scoured Kirkwall, wondering if the one called Anders had never actually left. And no reports even came from the agent who was sent to the mage's namesake, the Anderfels.

The hunt for Anders was, Sebastian had grudgingly begun to admit, a side-project. The duties that came with ruling Starkhaven severely outweighed a personal vendetta, however righteous it was. He had a city to rule, and its safety outweighed his desire to avenge the Kirkwall Chantry.

Today, once again, there was no word about the mage's location. It was no longer a disappointment, merely a routine. There was, however, another letter with a seal that interested him greatly. Sebastian took it from a servant, ordered for his dinner to be brought to him in his library, and hurried off to read the letter. The red wax sealing it bore the seal of the Divine herself. When he had settled in for the evening, he cleared his library of the usual royal hangers-on, and opened the envelope.

_To His Highness, Sebastian Vael, Lord of Starkhaven,_

_Forgive me if this seems abrupt. Our interactions have been brief in the past, but I believe you can assist me._

_My name is Cassandra Pentaghast. I am a Seeker of the Chantry, and Right Hand of the Divine. I am currently tasked with aiding the Inquisition in settling several conflicts in Orlais, and most importantly, in investigating and sealing the Breach that has opened between Thedas and the Fade. Before this, I was tasked with researching a matter you would be quite familiar with. I was sent to Kirkwall to interrogate the dwarves merchant Varric Tethras regarding the activities of Garrett Hawke. I learned of your own connection to the Champion of Kirkwall during this time. I am also quite aware that you were once a devoted Brother of the Chantry, and that you abandoned the Champion after another of his companions destroyed the Chantry of Kirkwall and murdered Elthina, the Grand Cleric._

The reference to the woman who had been like a second mother to Sebastian gave him pause. He sighed deeply, took a sip of tea, and went back to the letter.

_During my investigation into the Breach, I once again encountered Varric Tethras. He has gained a bit of an adventurous streak, it seems, and for a time joined the company conducting the investigation. Not long ago, a letter, the contents of which he refused to share, prompted Varric to leave us and return to Kirkwall. I do not know what he plans to do there, but I do not believe he simply tired of adventure. I have suspected for some time that Varric has held back information about the whereabouts of the Champion from us. And I now suspect that his business in the city may involve the Champion, or something of equal interest to us. I cannot break away from my work in Orlais, and the Chantry has precious few resources to devote to this matter now, so I ask you, as a pious man, to help us once more. You were once a friend to Varric, and to Garrett Hawke. Go to Kirkwall, find the dwarf, and find out what made him return. I pray that it is not as dire as what he left behind, but I do not think he would have left us so abruptly if it was not._

_Sincerely,_

_Cassandra Pentaghast_

_Seeker of the Chantry and Right Hand of the Divine_

The thought of returning to Kirkwall flooded Sebastian with emotions. He had once angrily promised to return with an army that he did not yet have. Now, he had his army, but those who had raised his ire were gone. He had hoped not to involve Starkhaven with the conflicts in the southern lands, but reality was reality. The Breach could eventually affect Starkhaven if left unchecked, and after so many years dedicated to the Chantry, it was hard to turn down a direct call from one of its most powerful figures. And if it meant a lead in the hunt for the mage who had slaughtered Elthina, how could he say no? He folded up the letter, walked to the largest window in his library, and looked outside.

"I'll need to think," he muttered to nobody but himself. "Need to plan. If the Maker needs me, so be it."


	11. Chapter 11: The Bone Pit

**Chapter 11: The Bone Pit**

The first to settle in for the night was the dog. Nobody had said a thing since getting off the boat. One stop had let off three passengers back in the city. Donnic was reluctant to leave his wife's side, but Aveline insisted it would be for the best that he remain to maintain order until it was safe for her to return. He could also serve as a set of eyes in the city in the interim. Zevran hadn't intended to go with the group as it was, but was disappointed to see that Isabela wanted to stay with her friends, especially that other elf.

"I got into plenty of trouble traveling with Aedan Cousland, don't get me wrong," he had laughed, the gravity of the recent battle apparently being lost on the Elven assassin, "but we never felt the need to hide in the wilderness when it was done."

Nathaniel Howe, one of Bethany's fellow Grey Wardens, had left without a word. He simply nodded to her, then gazed longingly at the boat as it drifted away. It was understood well enough, two missing Wardens would have drawn far too much attention. It was enough that Bethany's mentor, Stroud, was taking over leadership of Vigil's Keep, he didn't want the new Warden-Commander thinking he needed to start sending search parties.

They had wasted no time getting away from the city after that. Not far, as it was quickly decided that they wouldn't all simply abandon Kirkwall, but far enough to avoid the immediate wrath of Templars still loyal to the late Knight-Commander, blood mages who had fallen to the temptations of demons, and other panicked citizens. Even then, it seemed like people were gathering on the dock, glaring at them. Something about this, even on a day like this, seemed unusual to Garrett Hawke.

"Where are you?!" Somebody called. That seemed especially wrong to the Champion, like it wasn't supposed to happen. Hawke shrugged it off and sat down, curling up by a wall. Lother was busy propping himself up by his front paws a few feet away, taking in the smells of the harbor. Merrill plopped herself down on the floor of the boat, now moving faster with three less occupants weighing it down. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Isabela steered, she being the one who knew anything about sailing, and the others looked off in different places.

The mine was a good place to hide. Plenty of people knew Hawke owned it, but operations had been shut down after the discovery of, and eventual battle against, a high dragon living in the area. That made it spacious, abandoned, and intimidating to glory-seekers who may want to seek out the people who had just slain some of the most influential figures in Kirkwall.

The group had abandoned the boat on the edge of the Wounded Coast, and walked the few miles to the Bone Pit. Hawke led them into the network of caverns that ran through the mine. They had gone through this area plenty of times before. Hawke had essentially stumbled his way into co-owning the mine years earlier, and the headaches associated with it frequently brought him out there, ready to clear a robber or dangerous animal. They eventually settled on a cave overlooking the main quarry. It hadn't been more than a few weeks previous that the high dragon had perched outside of this cave, raining fire on Hawke and the friends who had accompanied him to investigate. The dead beast's rib cage was still visible in the quarry.

"Where are you?"

"Hm?" Hawke jumped, not knowing how to place the voice.

"What's wrong, ma vhenan?" Merrill asked, joining him at the mouth of the cave.

Hawke was staring absently into the night sky, slowly processing everything that had just happened. Anders, who was presently trying, without the aid of magic, to start a fire, had taken a heated argument between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter and turned it into carnage. An elaborate spell he cast, one which Hawke, in his trusting ignorance, had helped facilitate, destroyed the Chantry and everyone inside. Hawke was still sorting out all that happened in the chaos after. Meredith finally making her move to destroy all of Kirkwall's mages, a move people had feared she would make for years. Sebastian demanding that Anders die, and storming off when Hawke wouldn't kill his friend. Bethany's abrupt appearance. Orsino's sudden use of blood magic, Meredith's lyrium corruption…

"Do we have any food?" Anders called.

Nobody answered. Fenris snorted and walked off.

"Uh, that's right Elf, we _should _go hunt a nice rabbit to cook," Varric said, grabbing his crossbow and catching up with Fenris.

Anders looked back down at the fire. A glimmer of hope had earlier been evident in his eyes, one born of the possibility that maybe, just maybe his friends understood why he had done what he did. The last traces of that glimmer died when Fenris and Varric walked out. He didn't take his eyes off the fire for some time after that, seemingly not noticing Isabela pulling out a deck of cards, or the dog howling at the moon, or for that matter, of Merrill openly wondering what dogs always had to say to celestial bodies that was so important.

"What now?" Aveline eventually said, as the fire started to die. Fenris and Varric had returned an hour later with a handful of berries and a goose that had been flying by. It seemed an odd time of year for birds to migrate, but nothing seemed right this night.

"Now, we sleep in a cave and hope Templars don't try to kill us," Varric said.

"I don't know," Merrill interjected. "They seemed excited to see us leave."

"I'm serious," the Guard-Captain groaned. "What now? The Gland Cleric is dead. So are the First Enchanter of the Circle and the Templar Knight-Commander. And we were in the middle of it all. Is there any going back?"

"No," Anders muttered, still gazing at the fire. "Kirkwall as you knew it is over. We can't just go back to how we were."

"You can't," Fenris growled. "Some of us may still have a chance."

"You're part of it, just like me."

"I got swept along in the shockwave of your foolishness," Fenris said

"Poetic," Isabela laughed, once again fiddling with her deck of cards. Even after a heated game of diamondback ended, she had kept shuffling and fidgeting with the deck.

"Do I have any place staying with the Guard?" Aveline asked.

"You lead the people who protect the city," Hawke said. "What did you do but protect the city?"

"I ran while it was in flames," Aveline replied. "While three of the most influential people in Kirkwall lay dead. I feel like a failure."

"I'll say again, you protected the city," Hawke said.

"I can't hide here for long," Aveline said. "Consequences notwithstanding, the Guard needs me. At least, Donnic needs me."

"Putting out fires and quelling riots gets his juices flowing, do they?" Isabela quipped. Aveline stifled a smile. "Oh yes, you get back to that as soon as you can."

"And what will you do, now that your playground is spoiled?" Aveline asked.

"I admit it may not be as fun with all my favorite prudes lying dead, and I do have a wonderful new boat I've been dying to take to sea," the pirate mused. "After this jarring bout of altruism, I wouldn't mind a few months sailing. Maybe visit Antiva, cause a little of the less catastrophic mayhem I'm used to. Anyone want to come along?"

"No," Anders muttered.

"You are truly no fun," Isabela jeered. "Believe it or not, though, that invitation is serious. I can get far away from the Free Marches very quickly, and you're all welcome to come."

"And what would we do?" Aveline asked. "Raid silk shipments and start barfights?"

"I could get behind that," Varric said.

"Don't knock the life until you've tried it," Isabela smirked.

At this point, Lother got up and raced outside, chasing the far-off sound of a nocturnal bird. Merrill wished him luck.

"I can't go back there," Hawke said. Everyone, even Anders, looked at him. "Nearly a decade, and everything I did led to what just happened. People are going to be out for my head, and I don't blame them."

"Why? None of it was your fault," Isabela said.

"Who didn't see me publicly chastising Meredith time and again?" he replied. "I'm the Champion who encouraged a battle."

"War," Anders cut in. "It's a war. One that's going to happen all over Thedas, as it should have years ago."

"If you come along, we're making a last stop at the Blooming Rose first," Isabela quipped. "You're going to be so annoying until we get you laid."

"I'm not going with you. Any of you," Anders said. His voice was monotone. There was none of his usual wit, or even a trace of the spirit of Justice that lived in his body. "I caused this. It needed to happen, but people still died, and it's still my doing. None of you deserve the fallout from it. I'll be gone in the morning."

"So we'll finally be rid of you?" Fenris asked. The prospect pleased him.

Somewhere outside, Lother was barking at a rodent. Hawke twisted around where he sat to spot the dog.

"Where are you?!" came a voice in the quarry.

"That isn't right," Hawke muttered. "That didn't happen…"

"Ma vhenan?" Merrill pulled Hawke back to their spot.

"Who keeps calling to me?" he asked, getting back up.

"Hawke, you're exhausted," Aveline said, getting up to grab him as he headed to the mouth of the cave. "Come, sit, try to relax. Nobody is calling you."

"Eat some bad berries, Hawke?" Varric asked. "Maybe those purple ones we brought back? Because I threw the rest of them away for a reason."

"No, I… I'm alright," the Champion said, sitting back down. Merrill placed a hand on his shoulder. Bethany moved closer to her brother. Hawke took several deep breaths and listened as the others speculated on their next steps. It seemed right after this.

They talked, and laughed a little, and eventually the others slept. Hawke asked to stay up and keep watch, which the others reluctantly agreed to. He needed to think, but thinking felt hard. Harder than it was supposed to at this moment. And Lother was still outside. Hawke could see the Mabari racing around the quarry, frequently looking back up at the cave to see his human.

"This isn't right," he whispered. "You didn't leave the cave."

"Where are you?!"

Hawke looked around for his sword, but couldn't find it.

"Where are you?!" That voice was familiar. It wasn't one he'd heard in a long time, but he knew it all the same. And when he looked back outside, Lother was gone. And then in a moment, the dog was standing at his side.

"Where are you, Serah Hawke?" came that familiar voice, out of the dog's mouth.

* * *

"Ah!" Hawke sat up, shaking and covered in a cold sweat. Lother perked his head up next to the bed. "I'm right here, boy."

The dog cocked his head, confused.

"Ma vhenan?"

"Sorry, Merrill," Hawke groaned. "I-"

"You had that dream again, didn't you?" Merrill sat up and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. "It's only a dream."

"Strange things happen in dreams," Hawke said. "And most don't keep happening like this."

"I'm a mage, ma vhenan, I see the Fade when I dream," Merrill said. "Seeing your dog talk is nothing. I think I'd like to hear Lother talk. I bet he'd have great things to say about running around in high grass, and biting things he doesn't like."

"I suppose." Hawke turned and kissed his wife on the forehead. "Merrill, we came this way to see Bethany."

"Yes?"

"And Bethany isn't here. She went back to Kirkwall. I have no doubt Varric sent her the same letter he sent us. I- I think we should go."

Merrill's eyes lit up.

"I think that's a fine idea," she said. "I hope everyone came back. Maybe Varric is throwing a party!"

"I doubt that's the purpose," Hawke laughed. "But you know it'll happen anyway."

Merrill went back to sleep a few minutes later. Hawke lay awake. Even knowing the more surreal aspects were just the random musings of a dream, thinking about that last night in the Free Marches distracted him. Anders had kept his word and left the next morning. Hawke and Aveline were the only ones up early enough to see him go, and he didn't speak a word to either of them, just gave them a sad look before walking away. Aveline had returned to the city the day after that, and a week later, sent a messenger to give them the rundown in Kirkwall. She had regained enough control that Varric decided it was necessary for him to return as well. He had business interests, and made a cryptic comment about "making sure people got it right." Bethany left around the same time. The Grey Wardens needed her, as they always would now. She seemed the saddest about leaving the dog.

Isabela had eventually instructed Hawke, Merrill and Fenris to meet her at the Wounded Coast, and came back with the ship she had acquired from her old rival Castillon. The pirate kept her word and took them to Antiva for a fun week, drinking, gambling, and even starting a few fights. On the last day, Hawke drunkenly led the quartet into the Chantry of the town they had landed in, and coerced the local Mother to conduct an impromptu ceremony. After a hastily thrown-together wedding reception for the new Mr. and Mrs. Hawke, they agreed to part ways. Isabela had her own lifestyle she wanted to resume, and Fenris was willing to go along with her. For the few years that had followed, Garrett Hawke and the beautiful, aloof elf he had introduced to human society years before wandered throughout Thedas, simply trying to disappear, avoiding Circles, Templars, any militant factions or great dangers. And now, it seemed it was time for that nomadic lifestyle to end.

These dreams had been coming for weeks. Hawke couldn't believe there wasn't a purpose to them, or that the timing between them and Varric's letter was a coincidence. It was troubling, and needed to be investigated. And as much as anything, he needed to know who that voice belonged to. Who was asking where he was in his dreams?

* * *

**_I hope everyone is enjoying this so far! I want to know, what aspects of this are working for you, my readers, and what needs work? Leave comments in the review section if you've got anything to single__ out._**


	12. Chapter 12: The Wolf

**Chapter 12: The Wolf**

It had not, in the last few days, stopped raining. Varric had relented and stopped insisting that one of the group remain on patrol at all times, in favor of accepting reports from members of the City Guard. That had not stopped Fenris from taking long walks along the docks, gazing into the harbor casually while taking in the air, which he generously described as "unique", but for the most part, it gave him time to think. He had a propensity to brood, as was frequently pointed out. Somehow, he simply had a hard time seeing life as the extended game his friends apparently did.

It was on this particular night that he decided not to roam up and back the span of the docks, but to remain in one area. This open corridor was heavily-trafficked during the day, being the first thing people walking in from Lowtown saw. It had also, years ago, been a direct entrance to the compound ceded to the Qunari horde that had been stranded in the city. Fenris, with his knowledge of Qunari culture and language, was frequently dragged along when Hawke felt necessary to intrude on their affairs. Now, at the end of the square, stood that bloody statue.

Fenris didn't necessarily hate the statue. He understood the Qunari, but had no real affection for them. And not only did he genuinely consider Hawke a friend, albeit one with sometimes confounding judgment, but he couldn't help but respect anyone who could battle a Qunari Arishok to the death in single combat. Much as the Qunari valued duty and reason, they did not select somebody to be the leader of their fearsome military for his analytical mind alone, and this Arishok had both incredible skill and incredible strength.

What Fenris couldn't stand were glory hounds. People attributed so much to Garrett Hawke, and it was true, he had accomplished much. Winning a fight, even a challenging one, did not merit a statue, though. Hawke, long before being the face of the Mage-Templar War, was the face of the resistance against the Qunari when they made their violent move. But he was far from the only one who fought against them. Not that Fenris wanted a statue of his own. If he had been the one to fell the Arishok, and somebody had erected something in his likeness for it, he would personally see to it that it was defaced beyond recognition within a month.

He noticed that, true to his word, Varric had finally paid for a real sword to be installed on the statue. For years it was just a torch, to look like Hawke was wielding a flaming sword, something the so-called "Champion" had himself groaned about frequently. Now it seemed to be some obnoxious stained-glass construct which flashed brightly whenever a bolt of lightning lit up the square.

"Evening, Serah." Fenris's thoughts were briefly interrupted by a young woman in the armor of the City Guard walking by. She wore a small shield on her arm, the kind one normally only wielded when fighting on horseback, and had a mace strapped across her back. Aveline had mentioned needing to rush some recruits into service early, and Fenris assumed that this was one of them. There had been some business about a killer stalking Hightown, and the more experienced guards were spending more time there.

"Oy, Jessa, get over here!" Somebody called, and the guard took off. She nearly fell down a flight of stairs trying to answer. Curious, Fenris followed, albeit at a leisurely pace. The rain was letting up a bit, but the lightning was growing more frequent, and he enjoyed watching it dance in the clouds over the water.

"Stop!" came a female voice. It was muffled, but Fenris was fairly certain it was the guard who had addressed him. She had turned a corner, and Fenris immediately recognized where she had gone. The manhole cover that lay out of place led to a series of underground tunnels not otherwise connected to any of Kirkwall's undercity. Hawke had chased people down here on a few occasions, and Fenris had gone with him most of those times. He paused a moment, and decided to follow.

What attracted the attention of the guards was obvious. The smell was, even for an area like this, atrocious. The lighting was worse than usual, with whoever accepted responsibility for keeping lanterns lit on the walls clearly slacking. But that smell told Fenris everything he needed to know. It was the stench of rotted flesh and human waste. What he did not smell, troublingly, was blood. He knew the smell well, having shed much of it. He followed the smell, and the occasional sounds of a human crying, to find a pile of corpses. They were arranged neatly on tables. Most were clearly impoverished humans and elves, or their clothes were ratty enough to look like it. Their bodies seemed well-preserved, if incredibly pale, and each was a slit throat.

"Help…" the voice made Fenris spin around. The two guards were piled against a wall. The one who spoke was a man with short red hair. His left arm was completely burned away. The wound was cauterized, but the shock was slowly setting in. The other guard, the woman who had said hello to him earlier, was dead already, her armor crushed in the chest. The lyrium tattoos that lined Fenris's body began to glow. He drew his sword, and began surveying the room more carefully. He noted that there were two rows of tables, the higher ones holding people in more stately dress.

"Better treatment for the rich, even in death," Fenris muttered. "Show yourself!"

The bolt hit him in the back. It burned hot on his back, but didn't get through his armor. The lyrium across his body kept him safe from what may have otherwise been a debilitating attack. Fenris turned, and saw a mage in a long robe, with a fur-lined hood adorned with short horns. It was a uniform he was very familiar with.

"Slaver," he growled. The mage stepped back, and pointed his staff again. "You're scared. Your hands are shaking, I can tell. Hit me again."

The mage steadied his grip on his staff, and fired off bolt after bolt of green magical energy. They all landed on Fenris's chest, and each time he gave the slightest wince as he advanced. His walk was slow, deliberate, and he held out his right arm to allow the tip of his sword to drag across the ground and make an eerie grating noise.

"You shouldn't be here!" the slaver mage croaked. He could not hide the fear in his voice. "None of you should be here!"

"Nor should you!" Fenris roared. In one fluid motion, he brought his left hand onto the hilt of his sword, and swung. He had stayed far enough back that the attack did not touch the mage's body, but his staff was cut in half. "I wonder, do you know who I am?"

The mage dropped his staff and turned to run. Fenris chased, and hit him on the side of his head with the flat part of his blade.

"Answer me!"

"You're F… Fenris…" the mage sputtered, clutching his head. "I know of you."

"I wonder, from who?" the elf asked. "I can no longer assume any Tevinter bastard who makes his way down here works for Danarius. Do you know who that is?"

The slaver shook his head.

"Good." Fenris dropped his sword, reached down, and pulled the slaver up by his collar. "Now tell me, what brings a Tevinter slaver down into these sewers? Surely you have other places to carry out your business? And why slaughter these people? Using blood magic to, I don't know, increase your profits somehow?"

"Please…"

"Don't grovel with me." Fenris threw the mage down and kicked him in the gut. "I'm not one to be groveled with. Not from you. One of your kind named me his Little Wolf once, and wolves don't let their prey grovel. Now, tell me what you are doing here!"

"N-need the blood…"

"That much? What sort of spell do you need that much blood for?"

The mage began to cry. Fenris snorted, and hit him with the back of his gloved hand.

"The master needs it!" And before Fenris could question him further, the mage lowered his hands under his chin, and created two massive flames which enveloped his body.

"Coward!" Fenris screamed. He waited for the flames to die out and stomped on the burned corpse's head. He returned to the bodies, wondering if there seemed to be any patterns to the victims. Besides being segregated between rich and poor corpses, there was nothing. Most were human, a few were elves, there was one dwarf. It was, he realized, something he would need to notify Aveline of.

The living guard he had encountered was still awake, babbling now about lightning. Fenris groaned, and decided he had no reason to let him die. With the maimed guard slung over his shoulder, Fenris returned to the surface. The rain was getting hard again. Fenris welcomed it, hoping it would rinse the smell of death from him. And with that thought, he set off for Hightown and the barracks of the City Guard. He wanted to be rid of this unfortunate sap quickly, and if Tevinter blood mages were in Kirkwall, he wanted to make sure they weren't there in secret, and could be hunted down quickly.


	13. Chapter 13: The Arrival

**Chapter 13: The Arrival**

"I wonder if they'll be waiting for us?" Merrill asked, leaning over the railing of the ship. Lother, finally allowed to run free after days stuck below deck in a cage, was next to her, barking happily.

"I didn't tell them we were on our way," Hawke answered, as he reached into a satchel slung over his shoulder. He pulled out two bread rolls, handing one to his wife. "Starting to wish I had. Varric could have brought us cheese."

"So no welcoming party?" Merrill was genuinely disappointed. "I was hoping they might have signs saying 'Welcome back Hawkes!', with pictures of two hawks that look like us on them. And maybe Lother could be a mouse!"

Hawke laughed. Merrill could be oddly specific like that. He long ago decided that they worked as well as they did because he was one of the few people who found her tendency to babble endearing.

"Are we going to visit them?" Merrill asked. "Varric and Aveline and Bethany? I bet they'll all be at the Hanged Man having drinks. You'll walk in and everyone will shout 'Hawke!' and there will be seats saved-"

"Was this before or after they greeted us in the harbor?"

"Oh…" Merrill paused to think. "After, I suppose. I guess we should find a place to sleep first. Actually, we can probably get that at the Hanged Man, too."

"I own a mansion in Hightown," Hawke said. "Remember, we lived there for over four years?"

"Oh right…" Merrill paused, briefly piecing a concern together. "You don't think Gamlen started sleeping in our old room, do you? We should have left a note telling him not to."

"Still technically my house," Hawke replied. "If he wants to keep living there, he won't complain."

"I suppose that's right. So where do we go first?"

"The house," Hawke said. "I'd like to see if it's still standing, really."

"You don't think your uncle might have lost it again, do you?" Merrill asked. Hawke had to look and study her face for a moment to determine if she was being sarcastic or not. Merrill had a fine capacity to be snaky, but she sold it well because half the time she was truly meant what she said. This was one of those instances where he was only partially convinced that she was joking.

"It, uh…" Hawke laughed. "I don't think he could actually do that, anyway. The house isn't really in his name. Not even in my will."

"Oh, who would you leave it to?" Merrill leaned into her husband and placed a hand on his cheek. "Does your Dalish lover get to own it? Or were you hoping we'd have an entire clan of half-blooded children to leave it to by the time you died?"

"If it's to you, are you going to throw me overboard?"

"Maybe," Merrill chirped after kissing Hawke on the mouth.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course, ma vhenan."

Hawke paused, suppressing a grin.

"Sandal."

"You didn't?! You… You're teasing me. You left it to your cousin, right?"

"Nope," Hawke laughed. "If I died before coming back to Kirkwall, and I truly did not think I'd ever go back, it would immediately pass into the possession of a simple dwarf who lives on the other side of the sea."

"Well, that's just enchanting," Merrill teased, sticking her tongue out. Hawke laughed again. "I didn't think we'd ever come back either, really. I'm happy to get to see our friends again, but… I don't know."

"I understand," Hawke said. "Kirkwall was something we were trying to leave behind. I suppose that's what a conscience and some bad dreams will get you."

It would be another day before the ship reached the city. The last time Hawke had sailed from Ferelden to Kirkwall, it had been a two week journey through terrible storms. He came with his family, not knowing what the city would be like or what it would have in store for him. Now, he came back to a place he not only knew, but had become an influential part of for a time. Uncertainty still lingered, but it was over something entirely different.

There was, as predicted, no welcoming party when the ship docked in Kirkwall. Mercifully, there was also no need to wait for bribes to change hands to get through the Gallows this time.

"It's eerie," Merrill had said as they followed a group of immigrants through the courtyard. "It's like nothing here has changed at all. The statues are all back in place, the Templars all just look bored. I wonder what they did with Meredith? I bet she's in a backroom somewhere, holding peoples' hats."

Hawke was relieved to discover, shortly after that, that a second boat trip, even a quick one, was no longer necessary to get from the Gallows to the main part of the city. Somebody had finally had the sense to build a wooden bridge spanning the marina. Walking on solid ground felt amazing to Hawke after a week on a boat. Lother seemed happy to be away from the swaying, too, while Merrill barely seemed to notice. The couple moved quickly once entering the city. Sleeping was difficult on the boat, even in relatively peaceful waters, and they had resolved not to seek out their old friends until the next day.

It was evening when they finally cut their way through Hightown and to the old Amell estate. Exhausted as he was, he had an idea when he reached for the key that had not opened this particular lock for years. He placed it in his pocket, instead, and rapped loudly on the door. He, Merrill and the dog waited for a few minutes, then he knocked again.

"It's getting dark," Merrill said. "Are you afraid your key won't work? I'm sure it still remembers how-"

The lock opened from the inside, and the door flew open.

"What?!" shouted the familiar, hoarse voice of Gamlen Amell. He took a moment to analyze what was in front of him. It was not difficult to tell that he'd been drinking. "Y-you?!"

"Hello, Uncle!" Hawke put on the biggest smile he could, and waved. A moment later, his drunken uncle realized what he was seeing, and fainted. "Oh, that could not have gone better."

A few hours later, Garrett and Merrill Hawke sat in a bedroom they had not been in for years. A small fireplace burned, and the two curled up on a rug in front of it. It was a scene they had played out for years, both here and in various inns and campsites outside of the city. Lother was curled up at the foot of the bed, fast asleep. A bottle of wine was nearly empty, next to two plates that had contained piles of smoked fish, fresh bread and steamed vegetables earlier. It seemed that not only had Gamlen managed not to misplace the house this time, he had been diligent in keeping the pantry and wine cellar fully stocked.

Even with the shelter of the mansion, Hawke reflected that he never felt warmer than when he played out this tableau, regardless of the location. Merrill was gazing into the fire, seemingly lost in her thoughts. He wondered if her mind was still racing with the general excitement of returning to Kirkwall, or if she was contemplating the reason Varric had beseeched them to come. It was sometimes hard to tell with the elf. She had a love for so much of what life had to offer, and her enthusiasm struck most who met her as naivety. But there was an incredibly passionate woman in there, one who, when truly determined to accomplish something, was more focused than anyone else he had met. This had, at times, led to tragedy, but that was the past. Merrill had given up blood magic when she gave up on the Eluvian, the magic mirror that had dominated her life for many years, and while expulsion from her Dalish clan and the death of Marethari, her Keeper and surrogate mother, would be a scar that she would carry for the rest of her days, she had found a new life with Hawke, in the world of humans.

Over the crackle of the fire, Hawke could hear a knock on the front door.

"Oh my, visitors already?" Merrill asked. "Do you think it's for us? I don't think many people would want to visit Gamlen."

"Maybe a debt collector," Hawke smirked. He could hear Gamlen muttering something and stomping up the stairs. "I think we're about to find out."

There was a knock on the bedroom door. Lother woke up and sprung into action.

"Nephew, someb- AH!" Gamlen shouted, then groaned and pushed his way past the Mabari. "You taught your dog to open doors?"

"Well, how else is he supposed to let himself out?" Merrill asked innocently.

"Three years," Gamlen muttered. "Three years I was free of this. Then one day everyone just starts pounding on the front door and suddenly it's 'No more peace for Gamlen'. Nephew, a courier had this for you. He smelled awful."

"Did he make you miss your old hovel?" Hawke asked, taking the burlap parcel. He could tell immediately that it was a bottle.

"At least I could count on some bloody peace and quiet once the sun went down," Gamlen said, leaving the room.

Hawke sat back down by the fire and pulled out the bottle. It was brandy, not a fancy kind. The label had a picture of a man hanging upside down from a window.

"Maker, he's branding it now," Hawke laughed, opening the bottle and taking a swig. He shuttered and set it on the floor. "At least the quality hasn't changed."

Merrill grabbed the bag and reached in. A piece of paper was sticking out.

"Did it come with instructions?" Hawke laughed, willing himself to take another swig of the booze.

"It's a letter," Merrill said. "I think it's from Varric."

"What gave it away?"

Merrill unfolded the paper and held it out for both of them to read.

_Dear Waffles and Daisy,_

_As I recall, I told you to let me know when you were coming this way. I won't lie, I was a little hurt when one of my sources told me that the very spitting image of the Champion of Kirkwall and his lovely Dalish paramour were spotted entering the city. I fully expected to hear that they were making a beeline to see the best dressed dwarf in all the Free Marches, but no. I sat here for at least an hour, gazing at the front door of the Hanged Man in anticipation._

"I told you he'd be waiting for us," Merrill said.

_My heart breaks, but I suppose fair is fair and you could use a little rest before the excitement of my glorious visage. Well, on the off-chance that you haven't decided if you're going to pay me a visit yet, I thought I'd send you a little reminder of what you're missing._

"Oh joy, I know where to get more of this," Hawke deadpanned, before taking another swig. It wasn't the best thing he'd ever drunk, but free was free.

_When the mood strikes you, you know where to find me. But remember, the rest of the gang is already here, or as many of them as this city would actually want to see. If you take too long, we may all just decide to drop by your house late at night, demanding an audience. _

_Good to have you back, my friends. See you soon._

_-V_

"Oooh, I'd love it if Varric and Aveline and Isabela all came over soon!" Merrill chirped. "We could throw a party."

"But then we'd have clean," Hawke protested. "Here's the plan: tomorrow, we sleep in as late as we please, then have a big breakfast, then slowly make our way to the Hanged Man. Maybe take in a few shops while we're at it. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see everyone, but let's not hurry to get started on anything that could get us killed."

Merrill agreed, and they went back to relaxing by the fire. As it started to die down, and the bottle of brandy was drained to the halfway point, Hawke lumbered to the bed he hadn't slept in in years, confident that, at the very least, he was tipsy enough to not have any bizarre dreams. When her husband was out, Merrill walked to the window, and peered out past the curtain. Since that night at Vigil's Keep, she'd made a habit of staying up later than Hawke for this purpose. There had only been that one night with the figure watching them, and maybe, just maybe she was being silly thinking somebody had been spying on them. It was even sillier to think they'd made it to Kirkwall on the same day they had. But she didn't think she could sleep if she didn't check. Hawke had his dreams, she had this suspicion.


	14. Chapter 14: The Welcoming

**Chapter 14: The Welcoming**

No identifying features had been stripped from the bodies. The glorified sewer had not been kind to them, and even in the hours since Fenris had briefed Aveline on his discovery they seemed to have rotted significantly.

"I've read about spells that could preserve a corpse," Bethany said, plugging her nose while walking across the line of lower-class victims, "but never seen one cast."

"Tevinter madness, no doubt," Fenris said. "So reliant on magic they can't even honor the dead properly."

"Say what you will about it, but I'm guessing that's what the mage you fought here was doing," Bethany said. "You're sure they weren't as rotted last night?"

"Yes."

The upper row of bodies, the ones collected from Hightown, were being removed first. Aveline had seen to it that the injured Guard was given immediate medical attention, then began collecting whoever was awake in the Barracks and sent them to follow Fenris back to the sewer. She came shortly after with Bethany at her side. Now, she was busy comparing the wounds on the necks of each of the victims.

"None of this was sloppy," she said. "I know this isn't saying much, but this was done by an expert. Or experts, more likely."

"Taking care of the bodies one person could do easily enough," Bethany said, "but to collect so many bodies from all over the city, bring them here, and drain the blood from them so thoroughly, that would take multiple people. I couldn't tell you how many."

"Doesn't matter. We've found their work, we can find them. Blood mages, all of them," Fenris muttered. "A horde of maleficarum coming from the Imperium to do Maker-knows-what. It would be nice of Varric would tell us more about this plot we need to help him thwart. After seeing this, I don't care the cause, I'm not helping it."

"Can we be sure they're connected?" Bethany asked.

"It would make sense," Aveline said. She stepped out from the row of bodies and signaled for two of her guardsmen to begin collecting them. "He's been willing to tell us it's something from the Imperium. Fenris, you are positive the man you fought was Tevinter?"

"A mage in a slaver's cowl, oh yes," the elf growled. "Varric did tell me I might have a chance to kill a few blood mages. I'm glad he hasn't let me down."

"Men, continue securing the scene," Aveline ordered to her guards. "I trust Varric, I do, and I've taken his word so far, but if there's anything left for him to tell us, we need to know it. Fenris, Bethany, we're done here. We're going to the Hanged Man."

* * *

"Seeing this all again, it's a little eerie," Merrill said, gazing at the dilapidated buildings of Lowtown. "I know we walked past it yesterday, but did we really take the time to take it all back in?"

"Not at all," Hawke muttered, combing over a vendor's table of old books. "There's a guide to the best cheeses across Thedas. Merrill, I'm buying it. When we're done here, I say we go on a tour to try them all."

"Done?" Merrill paused. "Are we leaving again after this?"

"I assumed so," Hawke answered. "How much for this?"

"You… You're him!" The vendor stammered.

"Yes, it's true, it's me," Hawke sighed. "Everyone thinks I died years ago. The truth is I just filed off my horns and put on lots and lots of make-up."

"Wh-"

"You don't recognize me, the mighty Arishok?" Hawke jested. He grabbed the book, and laid down a few coppers. "The Qun demands you accept this much. Have a splendid day."

"A little mean, weren't you?" Merrill asked.

"I knew what was coming," Hawke said. "Either he was going to start going on, raving about the Champion coming home, or shout at me for freeing all the abominations from the Circle."

"Oh ma vhenan, you can be a little conceited at times."

"And handsome, don't forget handsome. And strong."

"Ha. Yes, all of those things," Merrill laughed. She spotted a jade bracelet at another stand, and dragged her husband to examine it. "You're still conceited by the way. But you can make up for it by buying me this."

"You do make redemption difficult," Hawke said, exchanging ten silvers for the bauble. Merrill beamed as she slipped it onto her wrist.

"Oi, ain't you the Champion?" the jewel asked. "Where the hell have you been, you bastard?!"

"Moving on," Hawke pulled away from the stall, Merrill following slowly, admiring her new bracelet.

The plan was to spend some time shopping. Merrill had insisted on looking at nearly every vendor in the square at the entrance to Lowtown. Hawke grew less and less comfortable the more people recognized him. He had hoped as they left the estate that morning that maybe the time away from the city had dulled memories of his face. This was in spite of the statue in his image standing in the most heavily-trafficked section of the waterfront. Either way, it had been a vain hope, and he was starting to pull in the general direction of the tavern that had been his primary social spot during his years in Kirkwall.

"Do you hear someone shouting?" Merrill suddenly asked, her attention diverted from the bracelet. Hawke craned his head up and listened. Shouting was far from unusual in this place, but he knew better than to ignore something that concerned his wife.

"It's not shouting, it's screaming," he said. "Maker, if that's at the Hanged Man…"

The couple didn't run to their destination, but they walked quickly from there, not stopping to look at any more stalls peddling cheap clothes or used weapons. And in minutes, they had come to the Hanged Man, and sure enough, the screaming came from there. A robust middle-aged woman was shrieking in front of the door.

"Stay away!" she cried. "Evil has infested this place, none are safe!"

"Madame, that's not evil, it's just cockroaches," Hawke quipped, pushing his way through the crowd that had gathered.

"The people inside are ensorcelled!" the woman screamed. "All of you, run from here, summon the Templars, horrible magic took them all!"

At this point Hawke's sarcasm gave way to genuine worry. His first full day back in the city, and there was a calamity in his favorite place. He shoved his way past the panicked woman, unsheathing his sword. Merrill, staff in hand, was right behind him. The two had gotten used to going into cities without their weapons on hand since their travels began, but both armed themselves when they left the mansion that morning, almost on instinct.

"I hope Varric's okay," Merrill said as Hawke opened the door.

"I don't-" Hawke paused mid-sentence. The Hanged Man looked like it had changed little in the time he had been gone. What was unusual: the patrons were all frozen in place. Not with ice, simply paralyzed. Some had looks of fear locked onto their faces, some seemed as if they'd barely noticed.

"I've never seen anything like this," Merrill whispered. "Ma vhenan, be careful."

Hawke nodded, and began scanning the tavern. He recognized a few odd patrons, and the bartender was an old one. There was no sign of Varric. He began moving his way through the human statues.

"Isabela!"

Merrill clutched her old friend by the arms. The sultry pirate was frozen in an awkward position at the bar, setting a pint glass down with one hand, reaching for a dagger with the other.

"What the hell happened?" Hawke asked. Merrill was passing her hand over Isabela's face. There was a slight yellow glow emanating from her fingers. "Are you sensing anything?"

"I know of spells that can do this to one person, for a moment, but an entire room of people, and for however long this has been…" Merrill couldn't finish her thought. "Hawke, step back."

Hawke complied. Merrill placed the bladed tip of her staff on the ground, clutched the shaft with both hands, and closed her eyes. The top of the staff began to glow the same shade of yellow as her hand had before. Merrill began muttering something in Elvhen, and the glow increased to a bright flash. Hawke shielded his eyes, and could hear people moaning.

"What the hell?" When Hawke lowered his arm, the bartender was rubbing his eyes. Three patrons around the bar were also moving again.

"Oh, I am going to cut his bloody throat!" Isabela roared, finally getting to wield her daggers. "Wait… Merrill?"

"Isabela, are you okay?" Merrill asked,

"Kitten, I am a lot of things right now. 'Okay' would not be one of them," the pirate groaned. "All these people. They're all awake, but stuck like this. It felt like an eternity…"

"Isabela, who did this?" Hawke asked.

"They went upstairs looking for Varric," she answered. "Come on, I have throats to slit."

"Merrill." Hawke gestured to the other people frozen in place in the bar. His wife nodded and hurried to a table in the middle of the room, getting ready to repeat the dispersion spell on a larger scale. Isabela ran up the stairs without waiting for him to follow. Hawke hurried behind her, into Varric's suite. He could hear the sound of somebody slumping to the ground, likely the first victim of Isabela's wrath.

"Let him go now and I won't pluck your damned eyes out!" the pirate roared. Hawke, sword in hand, ran inside. There was a serving girl, frozen in place by Varric's door, just like the people downstairs. A dead body, a long dagger sticking out of its neck, lay on the ground.

"I'm sorry, this got out of hand," came a voice sitting in Varric's bedroom. Hawke knew that voice. He'd heard it years ago. No, he'd heard it recently. It was the voice that called to him, looking for him in his dreams!

"Stay back, friend."

A hooded mage stood holding his staff, guarding the door. His side was bloody, and Hawke was sure Isabela had simply forced herself past him.

"You don't want to do that," Hawke growled. "I've killed worse than you for a lot less."

"Hawke?!" came that voice. "Serah Hawke, is that you? Let him pass."

Hawke moved past the mage, and entered Varric's room. The dwarf was frozen in place, like all the others. Isabela had a dagger in one hand, and a broken wine bottle in the other, threatening the owner of that voice. He was sitting on Varric's bed, looking excited.

"Hello Hawke," he said. "Or do you prefer 'Champion' now?"

"You?!"

* * *

As quickly as Aveline could disperse the crowd outside of the Hanged Man, people began racing out.

"Grab somebody and find out what the hell is going on!" she barked to a guard. "Bethany, Fenris, come on!"

Aveline led her companions inside. A few people were left in the tavern. The bartender was dispensing wet towels and shot glasses of whiskey. And helping him was a familiar face.

"Aveline, oh thank goodness!" Merrill dropped her staff and ran to her old friend. "We came looking for Varric, everyone was stuck in place like statues. I've been able to break the spell, but Hawke chased Isabela upstairs and I heard shouting."

"You didn't think to go help them?" Fenris asked, the frustration in his voice evident.

"Hello to you too, Fenris," Merrill said, going to reclaim her staff. "As I said, I've been freeing people from this spell. I don't know who cast it, Isabela took off too fast to say."

There was a loud crash from up the stairs. Aveline and Fenris reached for their swords and took off.

"Bethany, good to see you," Merrill said, following the others. "We tried to visit you at Vigil's Keep but you'd left for here already."

"Yes, well, I follow the excitement," Bethany said to her sister-in-law. The two mages followed Aveline and Fenris into Varric's suite. Two dead mages in Tevinter garb were spilling blood all over the floor, and four shadowy creatures, shrieks, spilled out from the bedroom.

Aveline charged into one, tackling it with her shield. Fenris swung at another with his great sword. Merrill and Bethany reached for their staffs, and took up positions on the other side of the room, aiming ethereal bolts at the monsters. Fenris dispatched his with an overhand strike to the head. The two that hadn't been engaged up close converged on him. Merrill reached out her hand, and a bolt of electricity arced from her palm. It struck one of the shrieks, then jumped to the other, stunning both. Bethany continued firing as Fenris hit one with the pommel of his sword. Aveline hopped to her feet, having taken her enemy to the ground, and swung her sword in a wide, quick arc.

"One at a time!" she barked. Merrill and Bethany both focused on the shriek nearest to her. Aveline shoved it with her shield, pressing it onto the point of Fenris's blade. The lyrium markings on Fenris's skin started to glow, and he swiped out with his free hand, trying to connect with the last creature. It slipped out of the way, then stopped and raised into the air. It was brought back down to the floor with a crash. Bethany approached, her spell completed, and bashed its head repeatedly with her staff.

"Fenris, the bedroom," Aveline ordered. Fenris went ahead, and found one more shriek, dead on the floor. Varric was standing in the room, not moving, looking like he was reaching for his crossbow. Isabela was repeatedly slapping him on the face and shouting at him to move. Hawke was sitting on the bed, his sword resting next to him. He looked jarred.

"Isabela, stop," Fenris said, grabbing the pirate's hand. She turned on him, looking like she was going to lunge. "It's me, calm down. What the hell happened here?"

"It was him," Hawke muttered.

"Ma vhenan, who was it?" Merrill rushed past Fenris and sat at her husband's side. Hawke looked at her, then around at Fenris and, as they entered the room, Aveline and Bethany.

"Sent him to Tevinter to help him, let him live his own life," he said. "What the hell does he want?"

"Sent him? Brother what are you talking about?" Bethany asked.

"I know who it is," Fenris said. His eyes narrowed, and his lyrium markings glowed even brighter.

"Maker, so do I," Aveline sighed.

"Looking for me in my dreams," Hawke said. "He's the one who Varric called us all here for. It's Feynriel."


End file.
